A purple path
unfolds
beneath my feet
and in the heat of my emotions
before I couldn't see it

a mother ghost
leads me
and leads me warm
this time

I find that
in this little time
I really made progress

confess, my love,
that you made progress, too.

Bleeding hands,
dear rub
your  face
analyse over and over
       what is there to ask but
one thing:
do you
really wanna cling to this
do you

Like a children's book -
I leaf through
all the coming adventures
and I wouldn't want
to be anywhere else

A marvellous
flock of birds swims
in moving air and dances
as one
stunning
organism

You whisper your lines out
like an airborne feather,
light in the air
an inherent sense of where to go
not interfered with
by heavy objects

<3

You nodded, once, shaking with Decision and I
From where I stood
Started moving
Simultaneously
Working
Our way

From Control

Through the Heart
Facing Fear

Into Power 🌀

Nothing but a silk dress on,
a Night full of cellular stress
comes to an end -
nothing in the way
of your breathing

Standing proudly now in his
purple silk-dress, tall
and lifting
the sky on his back
come on,
he says
I think I am allowed
what an untypical sight he makes;
that proud face lacking
all signs of arrogance

Integration doesn't mean that
Everything has to blend into
One cohesive Self

Integration
To me
Means
That everything can be there with You
Without having to Change into Something else

🌼

Healing
Takes time, they say

I think Healing
Deserves time.

🌱

As you grew into
Your true Form the scenery
Before your very eyes,
Too,
Changes and turns
Into the live version of what you
Always perceived
As remembering forward.

You are perfect, cause time has always been for you.

❤️

You hand me
words that I translate
into colour for you so that you
can understand
I loosen them up
break, gently, their hard lines and shapes
so that their energy becomes one
you can handle
so that this world becomes
one you can handle,
dear

I owned a lot of things
that are not mine
and did for very long-

Now I ask you
to take it back.

And if the dark disgusts you
maybe take some time
and start by promising
that you will not
push all your ****
to me
again.

Or I will promise
to myself
that I won't take it.

What you call
imagination, Dear
I simply call it
memory

Such a stunning piece of work
it has become
and glowing
in the bright sunlight

Only here and there
are some spots that need
mending
still-

an ill feeling of
half-presence befalls me
every time I step
into such a spot-

But only for a second
before I kneel down-
hot and panting-
next to my toolbox and start
filling in the space
and thus connecting-

      This Bridge is not
a simple gateway to get
from one place to
another

But rather
is it in itself
a connection piece

You see
Three old men
Sitting on chairs, smoking and
Having a coffee in the sun
And say
These lazy *******
Not realizing
That you are the lazy one
Who lets his freedom,
Voice
And love
*******
Out of fear of
Taking
Responsibility.

I want to write
a poem for YOU

who has suffered so much
who has seen
so much
and was- for so
so long-
not allowed to see

For YOU
who was always there
sometimes in a dark, dark corner
sometimes out
in the daylight and
dancing

Who never really left
just went
somewhere else in order
to survive

For YOU
who was there before my tiny feet
were touched by the doctors and nurses
before my mother looked into my eyes
for the first time
before I took my first
oxygen breath
before anyone could know-

For YOU
and for the fact
that you are with me
even in times where
I did not believe in
anything
when the waves came rolling so high
and the rain fell so heavy
and the storm blew so hard
I couldn't even
see the shore

This is for YOU
and for me
and to honor
the most beautiful
fact of all-

That it does not matter anymore
whether it is for YOU
or for me
because
we
are
not apart
anymore.

Braided hair around
her elegant head
she knows her feet well knows
her steps but does not care
so much cares more about
her music
her whole body
in unconditional agreement
amplifying
her Song

Because the fish
in the sea
never forbade themselves
to be aware of the water

Because the girl
in this world
always had eyes
for the bees and the leaves
of grass
and the air

what is love, what hate
what is a fifth grader picking up
a dead bird
what is your hand moving
to touch a bluebell flower
without a second thought
what your heart
in your word
what is love
what hate
how much weighs
your statement
in this cold winter air
how much
your warm breath