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Me Jul 22
White lines marking
her skin she
tilts her head
slightly
narrowed eyes
knowing alright
once more through it
with patience
and strength
moonlight keeping
her company
Me Jul 19
...
Write it yourself, I say. Write it yourself like you write it into being with every single facet and fibre of it.
Write it like you know you are writing it.
A shape, form, emerges in front of your eyes,
your fingers are not still now, cannot be still
for they are at the same time describing and creating what you see with your own eyes.
They move, in constant motion because you are in constant motion, and you want it to be clear.
You are not running from it, but it is not easy.
It feels - it pulls at you rather strongly rather like this is the thing that is not very patient anymore not feeling like it makes sense to wait everything out - the thing that sent flashes of bliss into your fingers
in the first place, the thing that makes your very own chest sting and pound hard in turns, like a ship in the most childish of storms.
You do not dare to breath out fully, and when you do it sinks down right into your stomach and there feels
so much more profound and physical.
It stretches out into your hands and feet, your fingertips.
You do not look at your words because you are the one who’s already seen them before they came into being. You are not quite
daring to free the full power, the
full
spell of the word that lay under this thick layer, but you feel it fully, feel that already the word is out, uncovered, hovering - getting to know you better, getting to know your condition,
the multiple points of connection already apt and willing,
and the ones that still push - push away.
There is time.
There is time for sure. But the thing is as sentient as you are.
...
Me Jul 14
Peer over the edge,
dear, and look
right into the seething
center
of the volcano
it will not ever
really harm you
Me Jul 13
Force and matter holding
hands together wandering
through time and space
on traces
of stardust
Me Jul 13
In this bright yellow house
Cooking always is possible
Always takes place in a very relaxed and playful way
In this house
Nothing comes in which
Disturbs
The calm love on purpose
Only occasionally a fiery
Argument stirs
Inside it
In the yellow house
You are always
Always respected for who and what you are
In the yellow house your loved one
Is with you even if he goes to travel
For a bit
Even if she goes
To travel
The doors of this house are never closed
For those who like to come inside for honest reasons
Or just to share a simple cup
Of coffee on the front porch
This house knows
Neither age nor fashion
Does not swing with anything that forms
Under pressure
The windows of this house are
Always open
Even when closed at night
In this house you do not ever need
To doubt yourself since
Everything is made by yourself for yourself and others
You do not even need to leave
This house for work because now
The work comes to you
When ready
Because the house has such suitable bright rooms
Green leaves everywhere
That everything that belongs into it
Does fit perfectly
The yellow house does not really know
Clock time
Although it knows very well how to
Accommodate earthly rhythms and make
Things work playfully
The walls and facade of this house are always colourful
And change according to seasons and mood
This is a poem that is never finished
Just like the house
And so It shall be
Right...
Me Jul 12
Don't hide
your embarrassed
perfectionist side, dear
it is
by far
the cutest
Me Jul 12
They cower-
Staggered-
In a lions' den
Not knowing

You're in here


You write
the world
for them

Marking
With fire
Where to tread on
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