It will tare you to pieces regularly, it will take ages on one day and and seconds on another day, it will boldly and mercilessly confront you with layer after layer after layer of
Thick
Fear and then
That which lies beneath this fear, with all the shame in the world of touching nice things, with a heavy leaden guilt that has been hiding so well you barely recognise it, with a sadness so untouched and so exposed you barely dare to induce something else into it, with a
Fire
That scares you to the bone and at first catapults you into running, again, in awe and total, unspeakable - and unspoken -  horror.

Look left, look right. What is it that is really going on? What is this running about?
You look down to your feet. Where you have stopped, a nest of bluebells has grown out of the pavement and bravely snuggles into the holes of your white sneakers, its friendly and courageous purple almost seems to be greeting you. Only, you don’t hear it yet. The sidewalk has burst open in a kind of slow motion, and the roots of a nearby plane tree have cork-******* out of the concrete to breathe the air. Two ladybugs sit on a fresh cherry blossom, looking up to you.
Now look back, think. What is all the running about?

If everything goes

You will

Still

Be there.

All
four
corners
steadfast and
ready
and a purple shine
and full of
confidence

Glowing in moon-
and sunlight:

Your
own
Foundation

You cast your eyes down and I see your eyelashes, black and white, alternately gracing the see-through skin. You are in a state of such vulnerability that I do not even want to tell you, dare to tell you,
how beautiful you look from here, how your -
How you amaze me just by sitting like this,
so obviously ashamed of the closeness and with what is materialising
in the air, so thick we could slice it, and probably do so -
I think too much, still.
And you probably hear me thinking, not the thoughts though.
But I let a bit of the time pass, just like this, looking at you
because I cannot not be looking;
you averting your gaze, exuding what I feel to be just one
little
beat away from connecting.
I will wait a bit more, but I will not walk further away from here.
For I already see your left hand twitching a little, relaxing
just a tiny bit, getting ready to actually stretch out - and it makes
my stomach and throat and chest tighten in a rebellious sort of maybe-it’ll-be-too-much - so yes, it is me, too. It is me who is making the air thick, and my breathing heavy.
A sense of foreboding so palpable.
So I’ll wait.

The good Things...

Do you deserve them - do you not deserve them
It is not even a question; it is an obstacle. Just another boulder to be dissolved;
but slowly, cautiously. Because this
One
Last
Boulder
Has been placed there with fearful force
And by many hands labouring
To block out the things
To have a buffer
Basically
to gain
time
to be able to get
Ready-

Now you know. You can breathe.
No force needed, Love.
Take your time and
Get
Yourself
ready

The Things will be delighted

❀

How sweet you are
and super-honest
when you declare
"I am not inspired!"
And I think
You are not even
aware.

When you got through to
The utter and absolute
Core
Of yourself and your eyes water
And your knees tremble cause
In your Heart the word
Reverberates and echoes:
Trust

This is not a poem, really.
I am not a native of English. So, please, if you ever find something that is linguistically super unlogical - feel free to let me know :)
And, yo, I won't be mad.
(what a way to try to make this more poetic.... Haha) ❤️

Clothed in
fancy stuff
in vans and converse and with
Hands full of labels, shapes and
Stuff-
He still remains
A kid of sun
and water

as he is jumping
over rocks and stone
with a holy confidence
that brings the smile
back on my face
And gives me rest

how sticks and stones
sometimes
connect with you

how different notes
of fragrance
put you into
another place and time-

how feathers
fabrics
woes
are talking to your eyes
and how

in wind
and water-
and in light-

how there are
calming sounds
of peace and knowing

and just how gentle
(and how smart)
they guide you

through the night

Jumping in and
out of
allowing
is the most
exhausting
state

Look at your
roots
with ruthless openness
then-
shoot up
into heights that make you
see
all colours
bright and shining

It is not your words,
really,
that unpack
the essentials things.

And thus, I am afraid,
I will have to tell you;

I only love
the silences
in-between the boring,
Boring words we say.

<3
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

As path
and walk
and feet
brought me
up on the rocks
I followed

and on my way
encountered
horse

and sheep

and seagulls
and-

a pheasant

and the dog

It's odd
to feel you
on the way

It hurts
to be
so utterly connected

And as I said
Now, every time we stray
from our path
they'll gently
push us back
always with open eyes
and open hearts