Years ago I heard a story

about a woman trying

to find herself, but

escaping herself instead.

It's been a long time since then,

and I still ask myself:

what does escape mean?


Changing your hairstyle, or

moving to another place

doesn't make you

a different person.

No one can escape

themselves, as far as

the ocean's blue,

and the Earth is round.


Years after years,

I'd come to realize,

I did succeed in escaping

My child self.

Peter Pan has flown away,

I am all grown up,

And I still ask myself:

What do I have left?

I first saw my grandma knitting when I was five. 
Wool yarn flowing through her fingers, 
As if it was a fairy tale by the brothers Grimm.
Magic was happening, giving birth to another 
sweater, or another scarf, or a dress I was probably going to wear. 

 I first saw a fashion magazine at the age of eight. 
It was full of clothes, full of bright, extravagant colours, 
I was amazed by this variety of art it kept inside,
a little girl facing her nature, her passion, her desire. 

 I was twelve when I first visited Germany &
realised that fashion had never been this far from people. 
Oaf boots and cerulean sweaters I was seeing everywhere
As a complete outsider, an offspring of another world. 

It was years after that I understood. 
Clothes are what we see & beauty is what we cherish,
But, if it is filth that you carry on the inside, 
It can never be covered by a little black dress.

Tipton Poetry Journal
July, 2019

Today is a rainy day in New York.


I go in the rain having no umbrella;
I feel it, drop by drop, jumping on my face.
People are coming through,
having umbrellas above their heads,
as if it were some huge eagles on the little stalks.


You always stay home on a rainy day,
As if it were a ritual, a tradition.
You skip or cancel all the affairs you have planned for such a day.
You stay home. You work. You write.
When I leave a goodbye kiss on your lips,
I feel those salty drops right on them.
You don't want rain near you,
You don't need him.
He is you.

Writhing in agony, calling the name of yours,
As it's to save me or maybe, of some importance,
I am to remember the day when my oak door,
Opened by you as a part of an art performance,

Made the sound of joy (so I thought, when I saw you first,
Laughing, choking and literally, aware
Of me being zealous and feeling this very thirst)
Your curse never fled in the end of a love affair.

Now, I'm writing poems, and every day,
Like a mirror, my memory replicates you.
Coming closer and teasing, you never walk away,
As if you are the only truth and the only safety.

With you, my love, I'm standing in the light,
A little lantern's hanging right above us.
This face of yours, this blooming, starry night
Like sparkling wine, is poured in our glasses.

Today's the answer, what we're to become?
When I seek, I struggle with a feeling,
This evening's falling like a shooting star,
And every move is trembling and revealing.

In every glance I see the very end,
In every touch I whim the very hope,
And silver bracelet wrapped around your hand,
And on my lips the smell of cigarette smoke,

And every piece is tortured by our fate,
And every part is trying to avoid it.
All I desired was to feast, to sate,
And all that rests is throe of a poet.

So take my love, and never leave behind,
From heart to heart forever are we binded.
Your lips I kiss, your eyes I see, your nose,
So shall I write in poetry, in prose,

So shall I chant a velvet, darkened rose,
With my pen, describe her flirty pose?
The one who deems can never be a poet,
The one who feels is closer to approach it.

I watch you dance. A gilded royal gown,
Your hair like birds, or some delightful crown,
Be mine, my dove, my distant dream when morning
Is giving life, or sharing someone's mourning.

So take my love, my heart, my admiration,
And every inch of my devoted passion.
I watch you sleep. Your eyes are closed, your breathing
Is on my lips, inviting, flyrring, teasing...

Run away, since my anger has no end,
It's your light that has led me through anguish, through hurt and dark,
But your love had you seized - and you easily gave me up.
I'm not to distinguish an enemy from a friend,

I'm not to believe our family can be healed.
Run away, little Sister. I cannot be stopped or ceased,
A beast's the one that always spawns a beast,
Satan's the one who needn't be saved or peeled,

The apple falls not very far from the apple tree.
I remember us, children, we had our faith, our love,
We believed that His aid would descend from the skies above.
Run away, little Sister, since it will never come.