I wanna be somebody with a heart
Who suffered enough
From self-commanding
Who now is simply happy
And who stopped pretending.

I wanna be self-understanding
I want to finally see
That it's the only way,
To let go of unhealthy ideas
That sit deep in my brain.

You're not enough, they say
But often they just laugh
And you feel shame
STOP that. It's over now.
You only will decide.
Can you embrace yourself?

Whatever others said to you,
They, too, follow a programm,
It's leading their brains
To put themselves and everybody else
In chains - of shame, hate and what not.

They judge and how about you?
Well you can decide if they're able to crush you.
If you're listening to the judgements of others
It means that a part of you believes in what they say.
This part is insecure, It's coming from tough times,
From sad times of disappointment and grief.

Take care of these vulnerable parts of yourself,
Just know - Nobody else can really understand -
What you have been through.

But here you stand and I see you.
It's never too late to turn to yourself,
And to apologize for not listening and not being there.

It's never too late to stop hating yourself and start to embrace your own life path.
Nobody else gets to experience the same! It's your and only way and you are still alive!!!

You still can question, see, take your own hand and breath, tell yourself that you understand your grief!

No matter how wounded others made you be, there also will be those who
will be worth - to trust and open up to.
You will see!

Only those who can accept themselves how they are, will also be able to accept, see and love you for who you are.

But your way to happiness always goes through your own heart and it's there and it is beating!
Even if you are wondering why still you are breathing.
Well it's cause you still have a chance to find yourself!
And to experience the beauty of life,
It means that you are able to cope with fears, with anger, with strife, with all the unspeakable pain, with every imaginable unfairness of this world!

The way to inner peace goes through your heart, where you will find, again and again that you are amazing just how you are.

They say, ‘Eyes are the window to the soul’
And I agree
And I feel
Maybe
That’s true
Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision have become blurry
Blurred by love

Blurred to see any better
Blurred to find any new

I think it is a curse
But
Maybe it is not

Maybe I’ve found treasure
And it’s shine has faded my vision

But maybe it’s a curse
But
Maybe it is not

It’s only clearly when I see you
It’s only clearly when I love you

And I feel all belonged to you
And maybe
That’s true

Because ever since you and I have exchanged our vows
My vision had become blurry
Blurred by love

In your eyes, I see my own.
I waited so long
for your presence to become real.

In that crucial moment,
I felt something
changing my awareness,
and the soundless vessels were filled
with joyful abundance—
colored by
pain and sadness
that time goes so fast
in underrated moments.

Materializing all these silent dreams,
this one little girl who is growing,
watching me with defenseless trust
like nobody has before.
Gestures, smiles, brief anger, and talks—
I gather them in endless memory.

Sweet Melody, my Purpose
from the first breath,
you chose me,
and I felt beautifully complete.

I know that a real journey
begins through terra incognita
Every day is surprisingly different.
I accept with relief my passing.
I see your blooming wisdom
in thinking smiles, and authentic recognition.

My Daughter, I want to give  
as much love and acceptance as you need.
Taking your hand and letting you go
when you’re ready
to walk into life on your own—
watching the indigo sky.
Breathing freely, without anxiety.
After each fall, another resurrection comes.

I am here, I hope to stay a long while
to finally return to my last home,
without fear, with some tears.
Please, keep embracing this existence
with good and lost people around.
Be sure that I will smile
in your still-beating heart
giving you warmth.
.

if I die,
it won’t be with roses pressed against my chest
or candlelight flickering
like some poet’s dream of a clean, quiet ending.
no—if I die,
it’ll be on a Thursday when the trash hasn’t been taken out,
the rent’s due,
and the world just keeps dragging its feet
through dust and noise.

will you write about me then?
will you scrawl my name in the margins of your mornings,
squeeze me into the spaces between your coffee and silence?
or will I vanish,
like the half-smoked cigarettes we used to leave
burning in old ashtrays,
forgotten until it was too late?

I don’t want the pretty lies,
no poetry about sunsets or fate.
just say I was here—
say I burned bright,
not with brilliance,
but with the stubborn flame of a bad idea
that refused to die.

say I laughed too loud in empty rooms
and drank too much in crowded ones.
say I cursed at the world
and loved it anyway
in the same breath.

there’s a kind of beauty in not being remembered
by statues or verses.
I never wanted to be carved in stone,
only in the raw pulp of memory—
messy, torn,
something you’ll think of
only when you hear a certain song
or smell cheap whiskey in the air.

if I die,
don’t put flowers on my grave.
put words on a page,
put stories in the air,
put that wild, laughing thing I was
back into the world,
if only for a moment.

but if you can’t,
if life gets too full of its own noise,
I’ll understand.
because dying is simple;
it’s the living that gets complicated.