mind weaved with colour
green for go
a red car
tanned skin
eyes of blue
oxygenated red rivers of blood
blue lips
dead eyes
strangled song.

scared to fall,
but more scared
of never flying,
so i sit at the edge
and wait.

I shed like a snake,
the outgrown coats of my childhood are rotting in a corner of my closet.
I thought by now it was unethical, but you keep on wearing the fur of a tortured mink over your shoulders, and I keep on crying over the fights I caused but didn‘t win.
They smell like forgotten memories that I no longer fit in yet can‘t rid myself of.
Every New Year’s Eve I am reminded of the dreams I had (and you had, for me) three-hundred and sixty-five days ago, still moulding in the written hopes of gift cards from past birthdays.
I cannot escape, mother.
You have passed down to your child the inability of overcoming genetic failure.
Stem cells in your body are filled with hatred for the birth of your daughter and the flowers she kills along her way.
Grandmother has managed to leave behind her house, her life, her skin. And you still long for hidden hope you’ll never find in her sewing boxes, you still wear the same old sweaty leather that she had managed to burn.
We will never escape the consequences that came with the anger of our fathers. The doors may be shut now, but they weren‘t back then. Even though you replaced them, the traces of slamming, hitting and shouting remain. I am an adult, but I will always be your child, throwing tantrums and spitting poison.
Maybe they were right all along, the abused ones really does become the abuser.

it is spring and I hum to turquoise beginnings
Armageddon is not today, I remind myself,
to be born and reborn; I am formed like clay
I am the sound of people winning,
Las Vegas and its men in grey,
I am the infinite seeds of tulips,
and the sunlit tides on a golden day

it is spring and I do not belong in warmer spheres
the devil holds me tight, I remind myself,
I am not yet gone, I still walk by his side
I am the only remain of my shepherd‘s geese,
I am tied to this hell and all its pride,
and I am the hell, and I am the pride

I am lost in my body and in all it contains,
I hum and I cry, am in pain or feel high,
I am the moths in my closet,
and the clothes, and the clay,
I am the seeds and the tide,
and the only lost goose here in May

right now my hands hold me tight,
so I remind myself:

it is summer, and you have decided to stay;