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8.0k · Sep 2019
Crystal clear
Me Sep 2019
No more lies
or games
no shame taken

I am
what I am
and will
with no fibre of me
just to make you feel
2.7k · Oct 2019
Feeling Warm
Me Oct 2019
Am I suicidal
if I want to hug
the sun
cause I love her
so much?
2.4k · Jan 6
Can I Be Both
Me Jan 6
Can I be both
the center and
the ray

the middle
and the outskirts

and is this longing why
it hurts so much

and why you asked me
to expand?
2.2k · May 2014
Freedom Fighters
Me May 2014
We stand united
We stand united
united and un-armed

We stand united
In love
In peace
In war

We need no walls
No swords
No stones

Our words are harmony

Our freedom is yours
Our kingdom remains

A dream
1.6k · Apr 2013
Head Over Heels
Me Apr 2013
The wide ocean lies
calm and blue in front of me
though I know
you are hiding beneath it:

your arms and face
beyond the waves,
your legs dangling
into the gulf-

I dip my hands into the lake
and feel:

a cold sensation burn
deep scars into my skin
your voice reverberates
within my chest

Then -

With a roar the waters rise
long arms and hands reach out
and grab my face
to pull me down-

And you know what?
For all I care-
Pull -
Pull us down! Until I drown with you.
1.5k · Feb 2013
Me Feb 2013
How come the snow burns
holes in my hand today?
How come it turns not
into water?
1.4k · Jul 2013
Me Jul 2013
A ghost has touched my fingertips
they ache, they shake with fear

Into my feet it flows
and gets hold of me,

This is no joke, love
we should run
before it is too late or before-

what is that?
you shake your head, you're not afraid?

Then I will run alone,
as I use to;
as it has shown to be
my safeguard system

not for me, my love:
for you.
*I think I'm somewhat bipolar... one day I jump, the next....
1.4k · Mar 5
Why my feet go numb
Me Mar 5
My feet
repeatedly go numb
and now I think
maybe because
back then
I couldn't run
Now I could, and now, I  don't need to.
1.3k · Apr 2019
My Love
Me Apr 2019
There are two ways to Life,
the way of Nature
and the way of Grace.

   Place your head in my hands
and I'll see that
we don't have to choose.
1.2k · Dec 2019
As a Patient
Me Dec 2019
I once was
in a hospital for depressed people
and I have never seen a place where roles
were switched
in such a paradoxal way.
Also the doc's final statement to me was: Well we think something must have just really made you insecure. Next time that happens, just do anything to distract yourself - clean the windows if necessary, just anything really!
This was such a symbolical statement. I think the doctors were much more scared inside than I was. I just stirred them up.
Don't ever hand over your own healing powers. You always have them.
1.2k · Sep 2013
Me Sep 2013
****** cold
out here

but certainly not
any longer

if you come in.
1.1k · Nov 2012
Black and White
Me Nov 2012
Charcoal dust
on her cloudy eyes
lashes curled-

surprise in his eyes
as he feels the portrait
of the lady
he - before that - so despised
soft under his fingers.

as the two of them -
in slow, bright motion -
come together,
there is no explosion

but only -
she said later -

as it had been.
1.1k · Aug 2012
Me Aug 2012
I can't write.
My fingers, thin, hoover above the keybord, a yellow bug irritating me when it collides with the light bulb
and my eyes, irritated as they are, and the tv in the background because it always is because I am not looking -

thus the situation being, and me in the middle of it, and no other noise except tv, bug, typing and - eventually, my own blood rushing-

and nothing comes from nothing, or so they say, and still no great lines on the page.

I will have to revise this and see what can I change, for next time.
The bug is gone.
Me May 2013
"I loved the rain today.

But say,
my love,
how come I am still wet and have not put my clothes outside
to dry?"

I am not telling you about tomorrow
I am not telling you about today
I am revealing what is in your face already

and forever

and away.
1.0k · Jan 2012
Me Jan 2012
In the rough wind they were playing,
Always, and swaying like trees,
Knowing the cool breeze
That blew.

One day in September
They forgot to remember
How this breeze sometimes turns
To a storm.

Whirling around
They then saw their own faces
Celebrating the ******
Which embraces
Those who know not what’s real –
And what isn’t.
1.0k · Sep 2013
Mirror, mirror
Me Sep 2013
So what if I don't like a poem
and say so?

So what if I don't like people to rhyme
to bridge two edgy lines?

Why, if this rhymes then it is just
due to my humble arrogance -

my love of irony -

and if you like,
just if you really want,

then be my guest and shake yourself
free from those lines
(from all those lines in fact)

and smile,
and now: forget about the rest.
972 · Jan 2013
Me Jan 2013
to write like this
to write-
and in a flash of bliss I tell myself
to lay aside
the pen and paper
until a later point in time

But now-
never disrupt a running flow, they say,
and rightly so.
For now, I leave the words,
I let them go-
'cause what-

                *Ah, give it up, my love!
Or have another go, but bear in mind:
You only find what your eyes see,
and see they do a lot.
All good, I say, now rest a moment;

and look:
what you have done here.
969 · Mar 2012
Me Mar 2012
He is sick of looking at people,
at their heads,
from above.

So he climbs downwards,
and dips into the shadow of a palm tree.

There he remains
until a child passes by
and frowns at the sight.

And he,
mirrors the child
and after a while:

becomes the pavement,
becomes the street lights,
becomes the smoke that rises
the dust that swirls

And at this very evening
as the sun sets,
all the smoke rises
and all the dust shoots

upwards again.
945 · Apr 2013
Boundary Nightmare
Me Apr 2013
You saw him on the way
in the middle of the road
brushing the orange dust off his coat

He crossed the path
with a steady pace
leaving traces of dust clouds behind.

As he stood facing you
you could not but notice
the thin crimson scar on his left cheek
and his harsh voice penetrating
the bleak surrounding.

"I am an actor", he says
with orange powdered hair
and a pair of hands too small
for such cruel eyes.

"This is the set"

- and again you wake up,
as so many nights before,
in a panting agony, hot as before,
stupefied, silently outraged about
your own little cage of dusty images

Tomorrow you will sit beside me
on the cold brick wall
squeezing your juice box,
as if you'd known it all -

long before I have passed you
to those small hands
of a stranger.
Me Feb 2015
My love is your love
is my love is your love

cheers to
whitney man
i wish i had
a kidney just as big
to share so that no one
would hav to die from
kidney shortage.

this is a poem i write
so that i do not have to write
anything else like
hell ya - i would ring the bells of my
freakin academic career end

pass this as word of mouth, please
and don t pass it through the greedy
hands of scholars.

Or i shall holler back in loudest tongue:
copy and paste is not the worst of all
it is this static state that they have flung
around kids' necks
**** it! I do do do do enjoy it too much!!!!
903 · Nov 2014
The Texture of My Soul
Me Nov 2014
Shaking hands
I turn to friends and weep
about the loss that did not even happen

To me the everpresent threat of it
looms over me
and to get rid of it I really would
have to get rid of my own self

In my heart's shelf there stand
a thounsand dusty photographs of loss

Once tossed and smashed
I now feel numb when I remember
How those kids left

Bereft of all that usually helds up
a healthy rationality I stop
and stumble

Maybe -
a tiny flicker burning in between the dust -
maybe this time it could be different

Maybe this time
there will be clarity
and - rusting in the chambers of my heart -
the images will softly leave this rhyme

and drift apart
just like they should.

Just leave my heart.
899 · Jul 2013
Paper Planes
Me Jul 2013
I don’t see how -
I don’t see why
There couldn’t be across the sky
A paper plane made of blue print
And floating softly,


But why not?
Look, if heavy things fall down and drown
Within the rivers
And if, again, the earth digests
And fills its own round belly
With that same stuff-

Go on.

Then why not have in light and cloudy air
A paper plane that couldn’t fly
Without your will
And mine?

*After this one last conversation
You left my head and,
Hanging by a threat, I still delight
In this sweet memory
Of the impossible.
876 · Sep 2019
Words from Yin
Me Sep 2019
Breaking down
the edgy masculinity
sure must be

throws you off
your feet and
catches you

guess what
I always have been
without walls

and I'm alive

it's time to trust
your less competing side and love
yourself instead of
wanting me to love you
if I do not show enough affection-
attack me to the fullest possibility

It s time to give your life
a new direction

Be a hunter if you want
but one with head
and heart
that hunts not for surviving
not for competition-

I'll throw a daring premonition
on the table:

if you don't find
your other side in you
if you cannot embrace it

you ll end up chasing
your own freedom.
**** it cannot be so hard, can it? Get a grip all you suckers and don't make it so hard for the ones who are actually ready.
Me Feb 2
Of all colours
of all shades of feelings
that cut you so deeply
the sweetest one is
the realisation that you
are free to call upon earth
and upon universe
to come and help
at any time
❦ ❦ ❦
866 · Sep 2013
An Empty Heart
Me Sep 2013
Erase those lines

erase this praise of empty phrases

an empty phrase itself as such

and as much as the poet hates to say

that his own work constitutes not

of substance

so does this writer here refuse

to go back to the start

and to reduce this piece

to shapes in black and white

to heartshaped shapes

without a heart

Erase those lines
857 · Feb 2012
Me Feb 2012
Help me she says
in a strong voice
and strong is the choice
she made.

Abandon him, she thinks,
I will,
and the chill
that runs down my spine
will freeze not only
my lonely feelings.

It will ignite the urge
for simple ratio;
a thing which, from the depths of my heart
I - upto now - so
Me Jul 2013
Everything is connetcted, love,
Don’t be a *****
Don't push yourself back to the start
Of our argument

As the smoke settles
And the ark resides
On this vast island

I feel safe to tell you:
That our start has been
From then on until now
Also the end;

Everything is connected, love.
819 · Jun 2014
Me Jun 2014
Release my wrists from your consolent grip
I am grown out of it.

Once in our lives
Have faith in me
Forget that horror Trip
That shook us so.

Combat is over
When all red is gone
Your senses may be loaded;
A harsher wind blows
in this lower heaven -
I read the words encoded:

*Forgive us Father
For we fear not
What you have planed for us.
Maintain your hard will
And ferocious tongue.
But once in
Frosty temper
You'll see where all went wrong; where all begins, and Ends,
And  lives
Not through you
But in us.
Me Jul 2013
And from the afterlife of death
derives this soft, sweet note:

Dear children of the planet,
spend your time wisely
but please do  cope with me as though you liked
what you are soon to see;

I am , alas, a sentient creature,
comical this might sound,
and under all my darkened features
you find a sentient heart.

Who* then, you might now ask, did take you
on the final trip?

I tell you this:
There is no journey from your land onto the other side
that I do not accopany;
but mark, although this might seem strange to you,
indeed I can see now how your eyes wide -
the crucial clue to the whole matter is:

What you now think is only for me true
and apt, is also what all of you do,
once crossed the line between your world,
and this.

Just like I am a Shadow in your mind
so are you of identic kind,
in mine.

*This note was naturally burnt immediately
after the churches of the world had spent
three days and nights
oppressing all upcoming fights
and riot deeds;

But what oppression needs
is more than that:

for this was not the only note, death's single letter,

After three days and nights,
horizons were invaded with birght shining papers
with those same words
enough to read under all lights
next all bed sides of pairs of eyes
that feed on sentient words
from equal sentient beings.
782 · Jul 2013
A Miserable Mind
Me Jul 2013
Someone wrote down:

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées
Triste, et pour moi le jour sera comme la nuit...

Sad, and for me the day will be just like the night

so, tell me now, why would I fight for this?
Why should I-
Tell me I'm not right
and I will moan no longer

I cannot hear you now,
that means you are not here to tell me
that this time I have to be stronger
that I rely on no one but myself
that *this time
there is no great tree
of life-

no riddle that, when solved, divides no more
those two who see the world
with different eyes

no divine twist that flies
right in the line of fire

no sublime turn -
nothing to admire
in the end

*But that someone stopped writing then,
so as to mend his wounds.
*2nd and 3rd line stolen!
Me May 2014
my hands and feet, and that they are intact
my eyes and their colour
the fact that I can draw
my sisters
my niece
my very good friend
my other very good friend
my best friend who lives abroad
the fridge, and the fact that it is full of food
the fact that I can watch every youtube music clip I like to
possibility to get a tattoo
the warm blanket
my legs
social money
people who sing with me
my memories, some
water, to drink and wash myself, and for my niece to play with
teeth - or the other way around
my brain
peace, so far
luxury to have more than one pair of shoes
people who tell stories
people who are friendly for the sake of it
people who write - for the same reason

what else?

some sleep first
767 · Feb 2013
The Inverse Center
Me Feb 2013
No matter how far
you can walk
no matter where you take your turn
nothing will show
upon this land
nothing will grow.

Burn all the waste
dig holes so deep
the ground breaks in upon itself
blow up the soil
so that the seep
comes up.

And in the end
you see-
you walk towards yourself:
a convex mirror hems
your field-
and as you try to flee
and as you try to shield your face-

it closes in upon you.
761 · Apr 2013
Not a Poem
Me Apr 2013
this is not a poem
it is a question

what makes you think you're so remarkably
invincible, and chasing rays of light until they die away?

what makes me cling to this
disquieting momentum, this moon-absorbing, hateful creature?

this is not a poem
it is a question

why can i not detect the seconds
of high voltage danger, and why-

why do i pour my heart
out to a stranger?



this used to be a question-

turning to an answer, though, and tapping
at my chamber door, pronouncing

with a clear voice - and with rain-drops bouncing off the window pane -

the word:

756 · Aug 2019
To the Forest
Me Aug 2019
A little fox,
two mice,
a white cat,
a chick
and a tiny bat

our way

and even if we stray

they'll find us

and- with paws and fur and tiny noses-


our clumsy
human feet.
Thank you! <3
744 · Aug 2012
The Genius
Me Aug 2012
He looked up into the grey sky
and decided: it's not time yet, I got time
and, shakig off the cold, massaging his hands,
he said: it should rhyme.

And thus he began:

To fabricate the best amongst all the poems -
that is what I will do, and forget about the rest
and the empty phrases
that fill no cup and no page.

To make you wonder, and frown
and think: who is this?
This master of words, of letters,
What kind of bliss
is he blessed with?

Then also: to make you remember
my name and my word,
and the fame that so uplifted
my thoughts.

And: to remind you
of my soul and bones
when I shall be gone, and not long after that,
you will build a statue
of stone.

But before all that I will-
I must-
I should-

But where shall I begin?
Where shall I

And you will put down your paper, your pen,
you will sigh, and know: all this was only a revery.
Then you will stand up, undress, stand naked in front of the mirror-
and dance.
744 · Sep 2013
Birthday Poem
Me Sep 2013
I have tried to be honest -
I cannot

I have tried to strip me off my sins
and this is -

and here is where it all begins, cause look:

born, and raised as one is, I belong
to the race of those kids who define
themselves by their age, by the content of time
that they spent

helplessly rushing from one end
to the other, with father and mother
still in between

with memories in cages and stories
unseen and unnoticed

with silences louder than sirens,
bigger than rocks and finer
than powdery snow on the top

and with eyes:
ah, with eyes wider than ruins
and more fierce than millions
and millions of armys in lands
where no daffodils grow

where no dragons fly and no harpees,
where the masses of sky are empty and vast
as the churches

so those eyes:
yes, wide eyes, and empty,
dreaming of countries that see no dawn
that yawn for experience

the youth has told lies to the world
given rise to a culture that hurls itself back
to the starting point
whenever it touches
the edge

so there now:
the youth in a square box
a cage in its own ship
prepared just to rip off the walls
the silly paper

with blue and white cloud print
only to see then, a little bit later,
that beyond
                there is freedom -

and always had been.
731 · Jun 2019
Me Jun 2019
What is climbing
up my
is it my
That wants to
So let it be
says my head-
so let it be.
723 · Feb 4
Breaking Open
Me Feb 4
And the dust cloud
Opened up
Entered every

But today
I start to see
A ray of light
Shining through
The last few days i had a thick gray cloud residing in my head. I think today it starts to leave.
720 · Mar 22
From Inside
Me Mar 22
A long
withdrawal now
comes to
its end
and in
a soft but
roaring burst
the Earth
in peace
and silence
709 · Feb 2013
I Rest My Case
Me Feb 2013
How the laws of a change of perspective
sound so eloquent and intellectual -

and how their glasses
reflect the sunlight and seem
so ill-positioned here

so out of purpose -
though in line -
and out of use already

your folders
your handbooks of modules and rules
put aside your cups of linguistic wisdom

the trees from your far-reaching longsightedness
pull off the net:

that you are
as clever as we feel you were from the


*And with a feeble smile I turned around
and looked at them
and said:

"If you don't get this now-
                       I rest my case"
709 · Jul 2013
Testimony of a Fool
Me Jul 2013
A million suns burn deep into my skin
the love I feel;

and if this love, then, be a sin
how in the world would I
could I
get rid of it and with a grin
live on?

As long as this world turns
itself around and burns these holes
into my beating heart
there is no need to fear
there is no need to part;

All cheap collections
of even cheaper poetry remain
for in the face of this new day
all I will ever need
and ever have to say is this:

My face resembles yours so much
your beat and mine so much in tune
that, even if all stars collide
and Milky Way and Mars and Moon explode -

I will still hear the quiet sound that comes
from our souls not split apart
but clinging tightly
to each other

in a forsaken universe.
*But fools are always the subtle heroes of a story, aren't they?
702 · Jun 8
We Can't Breathe
Me Jun 8
The City feels dense. Dust was
whirled up

I can't breathe.

I see it coming.

I can't breathe.

I see paranoia
I see people
doing what they are told

I can't breathe.

I see fear

I can't breathe.

I hear voices singing
repeated songs
I read
memes and phrases

I can't breathe.

I see
millions of
masked faces
masked children who
were forced to play
stuffed into lives
too scary

I can't breathe.

behind every mask
a pair of
child eyes

They cannot breathe.

stretch out my

off their


I say


LIVES matter.
I am shocked.
699 · May 2012
Me May 2012
Sound* is what I eat -
Out there they say, get rid of it!
Under their skin I see eyes of greed;
No mercy, their voices sit
Down in the darkened chamber.

Music has scared them so much,
Utmost terror it has brought -
Saving not their minds, but mine,
Inclined to confess – here I’m caught,
Clutching a few notes, my shrine.

Sing no more, so I stand
In their midst;
No hands reach out.
Go away - is all they say.
692 · Jan 2012
realising the few things
Me Jan 2012
Colours of mountains,
The song of a blackbird,
Painful it was, and a little bit scary.

When my eyes would grow bigger,
Rays of light shaped the edges
Of things and of shadows
Not seen but felt.

Carrying on in a distance,
I learned to distinguish
The sounds from the voices
Of soundless creatures.
690 · Aug 2013
The Poet's Wife
Me Aug 2013
The poet stands, bending over a piece of his writing, next to his wife
musing, not writing any longer.

His wife, in both appearance and mind much stronger than him,
shares his glance and dares
to let her eyes dance right across his naked lines.

He feels her breath next to his shoulder, on his skin,
remembers how, when growing older, you start to be
content with less.

So now, she finally adresses him:
Are you writing about me?

He frowns, something he rarely does, takes a deep breath
and, quietly bereft of his most personal emotion, starts to smile.

You know, he anwers, with a slight shiver in his voice,
I'd rather you asked something else. I'd rather-
but he has no choice, is forced to speak, at last.

His wife, slightly intrigued, demands: elaborate!
Two hands are raised to shape the air, create a space
and place an invisible heart
inside its core.

Look here, he speaks, this is my work,
and indicating this he gestures wildly
while his wife remains disquiet, though now
she sees, thus smiling mildly, what he is getting at.

And in the middle, this is you
as if
now he does not allow his voice to drift
as if my poetry evolves -
But he stops dead and sees
a clear image inside his spinning head:

He concentrates, takes a step back -
and reaches for his woman's face,
places his palms on her red cheeks, one side each,
and begins to speak anew:

*If I had ever written just a single line about you, dear,
I shall be ******.
I won't let false words touch you!
Let me explain:

It is the other way around!
All pieces and all lines and words have once
belonged to you, and now emerge
from your sweet face!

I am now well prepared just to erase
all of my poetry,
for all of it I will find then again,
in your kind heart,
in you.
***This is what is left of a two-hour art musem visit this afternoon!
690 · Jan 2013
A split-second of Doubt
Me Jan 2013
Have you ever felt
this heavy,
heavy weight of an uncut theory-
a pile of words
with no real core-

                        with no real sense
                                  to keep you

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh !!!
653 · Jun 2012
Me Jun 2012
I cannot do anything but repeat
how much you remind me
of fire-
how much, of all things in the world,
I aspire
to know you.

Picking flowers and dust
from your shirt
and remind me-
I must-
must tell you-

bring your clock
and set it, and rightly so
because there is no infinity,
there is no golden element.

I know, at least that,
you would smile and say, calm down.
There is.
650 · May 2013
Please see me as I am
Me May 2013
How come you turned me into this:

sneaking around corners
childishly peeking through open windows
so as not to be seen
in an unfit state?

walking too fast and breathing
to slow to keep up with my racing heart
in my chest?

talking to myself when nobody looks
and fearing the nooks and crannies
you might be hiding in?

circulating around the same thought
over and over again
and forgetting what brought us here:

all beauty and lightness gone
all that uplifted us both,
done away with and over
and wiped out for now-

and all of this because I-
because I-

am lost for words all the time
and always-
and even in rhymes I won't find a solution
that could possibly put an end
to all this-

or a beginning.
never going to reach the addressee in any case.
644 · Sep 2019
Layer after layer after...
Me Sep 2019
cough it
all up
and out
my love
for you don't need it
throw it
all up
in people's face
if need be

it is not yours
to hold on
it is not yours
to keep

look at the last
remaining string
and -
if you have to-
take your time

but know that-
after this-
after you dropped it
things kick in
so beautiful
you are not able to
643 · Jun 2012
Daffodil lament, elsewhere
Me Jun 2012
I hate daffodils, because you know
and her face fell down a little as though not quite convinced of her own words
they are false and only mentioned when people
what? she thought, irritably
when people want to be poetic

But you like them, you told me once
and he was sure, and he was right about that
so I don't see why.

You never see anything, that's because you are too much-
too much yourself. and myself, too
because you are living in your own mind an awful lot of the time
what time?

Love, don't upset me, I mean what I say
and says what he means
and if you don't like them it's okay to me
only to me
and if you do like them, well I get you some.

                                *In the meantime, while his lips are moving, she begins
                                                                               to see words coming out of
his mouth and forming a beautiful little cloud above his head. She sees
                                                                                        them, does not hear them,
                                                                    circling. He is beautiful in every way, and daffodils are not
                                                                                                                                        the matter of this. Not at all.
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