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;

I waited for you. for you!
now dust has put me to bed
and kissed me ten goodbyes,
dead cells surround the dead,
they sang me lullabies.
It almost feels like home,
yes I’m the queen now in the hive-
were I not homeless,
waiting for you, for you! my life.

the snow started falling faster when you left
and the gravel beneath my shoes now remains quiet
it was the worst kind of theft
and even though it has been many winters
of ugly cries and silent fights
the earth still mourns the loss of you, see,
the wind still sings sad songs in this cleft
that you created
day after day I must withstand the desire to let myself fall, like snow, from far above,
until I hit the ground, until I find you,
my love

lavender scented soap bubbles on my belly - hugging the weight I’m not destined to lose.
you smiled, I heard it in your warm voice.
today your daughter does a good job of holding herself together.
the pale moonlight behind closed doors tells me to stop reopening old wounds and I listen. maybe for the first time in months.
I took a bath today. the size of my legs are just the size of my legs, and the sun will rise tomorrow - even behind closed doors.

and maybe, I whisper to my body, you are not as evil as they say. maybe you are just a byproduct of something much greater.

winter is knocking at your door
and you have forgotten how to welcome a long lost friend.
your fourteen-year-old bones are rattling, your feet are cold and you want to slam your head against the wall.
winter is looking through your kitchen window and you are six years old again and hide under the dark brown piano. winter has come to remind you of your darkest dreams, but you close your eyes and cannot be seen anymore (you are now four years old). you want to dream yourself away like you always have, escaping into worlds of blooming tulips and slow dances. winter is knocking at your door, so you make hot chocolate for two and decide to say hello (you are nineteen, and you have learned how to survive).

my arms wave in the wind
I am here alone
melting into a puddle of grey
the sea level has risen
and you cannot save me anymore
tonight the ocean will gain
another lost angel of august

we are unconscious stars
drifting apart in the same direction.
It‘s a silver line
we drew between ourselves
and the scars of our past. -
we’re not lovers and not passer-by’s
only connected through trauma
stored deeply inside of us

the night you were unresponsive
my eyes stared right into the abyss
I dare not to say I saw all the ghosts
but I did
neither did you vanish that night
oh, but I did.
it‘s a silver line
between death and life.

one breath away from eternity
your world would still be spinning
and in another universe
we would save ourselves,
we would be conscious stars
with a shared past and
fully healed scars.

The sun warms my salty skin
and my pores open to let your love in.
I feel as beautiful as the ocean,
I am my greatest muse.
Today was a good day darling, see,
I have captured every second of my daydreaming,
pinned those very pictures to my wall.

And you wonder why I never get out of bed, though I keep talking about the colour palette of my romantic days.
Your wind has not shifted - but my winter has come. You can’t hear the children in me cry.

Suffocating happens through minor incidents like your softly spoken words searching for an affectionate listener.
I cannot breathe, my god, don‘t you understand?
Winter has come, and I am trapped in a fourteen-year-old‘s body trying to figure out where she went wrong.
It has been cold for a decade and the sun still burns holes in my chest.
I do not need you to understand, for you are my sun, my light, my temple. I need you to see the shadows in which I wander, the orphans I have left behind -
My skin has weathered, and I cannot find the right sunscreen to care for it.

Ich renne. Lautlos. Meine Füße berühren abwechselnd den Kies, ein paar Steinchen nehme ich kurz auf meinem Weg mit, danach bleiben sie einsam neben Anderen liegen.
In meinen Ohren ertönt der nicht endende Bass meiner Gedanken.  
   müde. müde. müde.
Es ist das Wissen um das Ankommen, das mich weiter antreibt. Ankommen, da wo der Wald den Himmel trifft. Ankommen, da wo der Regen unter mir immer noch fällt. Da, wo ich Ruhe finden werde.
Links und rechts wiegen sich die Bäume zu meinem Rhythmus im Wind. Alles pfeift mir zu. Das Rauschen des Flusses ist mein Applaus. Er gilt mir, und nur mir. Weil ich es bald geschafft habe.
Da wo das Brummen lauter wird, wird das Rauschen leiser. Die Menschheit ist wieder spürbar. Und ich laufe, laufe laut. Meine Arme strecken sich aus nach dem greifbaren Ziel.

Stillstand.

Einatmen, ausatmen, tief einatmen.
-
Meine Gedanken fallen vor mir. Und mit mir fällt das Leben.
Es kommt unten an und zerbirst in Millionen Scherben. Ich tue es ihm gleich.

Willkommen Unendlichkeit.

i am dancing loudly
to the sounds of eternity,
sixty feet closer to the sun
sixty feet above the ground.
sun and moon are gone
but the lights are still flickering;
raindrops on the rail-
it’s water in the purest form,
mixed with the bittersweet
smell of the trees.
i am dancing quietly,
to humming car engines,
to the song of despair.
my flesh is made of burning soil
and stops my soul from emerging

‘‘hush baby,
with thy fall shall come thy rise“

tomorrow.
five hours between a hundred strangers, writing for my life.
my finals are starting, my hair is falling out, my self harm worsens and my anxiety is reaching for the stars.
tomorrow.
trying to decipher the text in front of me, that is not only black ink but letters and words, even sentences.
I need to calm down.
how do I calm down?
I am burning, crying, screaming.
I am hiding silently in my bed, knowing my body - loving as it is - provides me with enough bacteria to cough. my burning throat matches my inability to talk, to think, to see.
tomorrow.
the hours are counted, my life is not ending.
why is it not ending?
do I need it to stop?

please make it stop.

it had been a slow day
it was summer, the heat was unbearable
you were knocking on my door
I was afraid, I didn’t want to open,
I wanted to slit my wrists and bleed out in bed

„oh hello lovely“

This inhuman behavior of not knowing
where to exist
put your feet outside
never come in again
stay outside, where the danger waits
come inside, feel the warmth of your family
sit and stay, go away
nowhere to go, restless feet
where am I able to exist?

i am dying in the moonlight
suffocating in all the dust
my mother left behind

he couldn't see how she clenched her jaw to swallow her mothers servility;
and he would certainly never
understand
why she did not want to be torn apart
by the looks of virile men

mother, do you not see
i cannot go down this road
i feel your tears but mom,
today I need to burn

i tell it to the birds,
and the snakes in the wood
not trying to weep
but they don‘t even listen
they never did

mother, how can you not see
how many deaths I died
trying to live

i run my fingers
through the many shades
of my life
and find a thousand
******-up memories of mine
so i take a gun
and shoot them down;
i **** my brain

one cell by one

I wanted to turn off my body
as if I were a light switch;
between
razor blades, books and sick people,
I stood there, unable to feel myself
and didn't understand that my behaviour should be the easiest to influence.

here I am
dwelling in solitude
with the moon
by my side

these lines will be filled with rage
with hatred against myself
against the disturbing thoughts and
the fragile bones of mine

i am made of shattered glass,
of mislead paths,
a bad child in a world
full of good people

my thoughts make me
a girl of hell
my actions a demon
possessing her beloved

my mother cries in agony
as her oldest
deprives herself of food and life
but deep inside she knows
this girl deserves it all

my hair sways in the wind
and I am free
upon the hills
under the greenest of trees
no blood in my veins
no skin on my bones
just the universe
inside of me

it isn‘t until you tear up again
that you remember the nights
where you have slept
shattered on the cold wooden floor

these moments where you
have begged the moon for
forgiveness and sleep

desperately trying not to
fall through the roof of the
room under yours

you try shutting down but
the memories flush against you
knocking you down like a tsunami
and you know that you will
never, never feel whole again

your lips tasted
like bittersweet hell

and now I’m burning
like a glorious fire
as if I couldn‘t feel pain

I can feel it
running down my throat
reddish slivers,
last scratches of hope
through my veins the
longing flows
to be buried underneath
our mother's coat

I am a burning, fragile spine,
a dark pinch of art,
spending all hours of the night
waiting for familiar aches,
while the embers glow dimly
in my heart

we seek beauty in our mortality,
in the circulation of the human blood
the agony of life lingers in our veins and
heats our frozen hearts,
and we find love in
the longing for death

my subtle heart is pounding
in a bell jar full of memoirs
as it falls from the heavy sky
- the last summer of stone

it has always saddened me
how they compared themselves,
twisting and turning every
inch of their bodies
until emptiness became necessity,
and necessity became torture

because the desire to fit into a body
that society had shaped for them
had grown in their hearts
like a tsunami deep down
in the darkest waters

how many tears have I shed
trying to understand how
intense their pain must be
that they denied what we call life
because they felt they already had
too much of it inside them

with red cheeks
you hold the guns
like brushes in your hand
and in two silent seconds
you paint your brain on the wall

(and start to run)

I think about myself in gray,
like the concrete over which
the cars drive in an
endless loop
gray like the cloudy sky
that leaves no room
for being

i should rather think of myself
in blue,
like the ink that stains my hands,
or like the depth of the ocean,
where the mermaids hide

but I cannot see the colours in me