Good morning    body
I called you in for a meeting
    because
you can’t sleep                         again
and I just wanted to tell you
        you don’t already seem to know
and no one can read your writing
you already know what you’re wearing tomorrow and you’ll pay the gallery in the morning

and    it's all fine
and you’re very much allowed to yawn     sigh    or take a
deep breath    

I know January keeps trying to go on
and on and on and on
like you’re not already over it
a few weeks ahead of yourself
like we’re not all stuck in Deja-vu
despite the fact that it’s fun to type out
soothing repetition
like a hot tea lavender oil or the last smile on the page
like a consoling yoga chant

it’s time you heard this
where are the words you’re hiding?
when you sit down and say you can’t do this again
I will tell you     I think this might be growing
it was you under the pile of clothes the whole time
holding the remote
murmuring prophetically in the corner
it was you    you see
you already said
you’re everything you know
you’re everything you need

Good morning    body
I called you in to talk to me
for us to meet each other

letters to yourself are the new shopping list

or at least
they’re calming to write when you can’t sleep.

TW: Self-Harm

Mummy,
My flesh is my own,
Grown and sewn,
To skin and bone.

But my mind is hurt and I don't know why.

As the metal hit,
On leg to wrist,
It painted my body.

Nothing could stop me.

It was addictive,
Yet I am still alive.

Why?

From one to two,
Then some to a few.
I could not keep score,

My body is now torn.

when the body speaks
words don't listen they simply go crazy
like the oceans of a foreign planet
why is that you may ask
why is a smile full of ranced linen
why is a mouth used to nibble the cuffs of bitter hours
why is a heart so full of lightning energy

what can a body do with the pain she was given
what can a mind do with the multiplicity of truth

poetry is a visitor from another space
where a blue scarf is waving in the wind
where everything exists all at once

He eats well, just look,

my phalanx fits easily --


in his navel hole.

In the mirror's gaze, a fractured self unfolds,
A prismatic dance, where identity molds.
Lost in the reflection, a journey concealed,
Identity entangled, a narrative revealed.

Each facet of me, like shards dispersed,
In the looking glass, a soul immersed.
A pretty stranger, unfamiliar grace,
Yet no connection, a separate space.

Contours traced, shadows cast,
In the looking glass, echoes of the past.
A dance of forms, a silent debate,
Identity's struggle, shadows dictate.

Reflections lag, in a subtle delay,
A disconnection, a mind's disarray.
The mirror's truth, a puzzle unsolved,
In self-perception, enigmas involved.

Yearning whispers echo through the glass,
To seize the heart that slips so fast.
Dissociation's dance, a silent plea,
To unravel the riddles, set the true self free.

the unbearable or the body as fiction
cold minds in cold hands and so we have
the remake of the fake
the power of looking and not seeing each other
tears are silent so silent are some words
poisonous smiles and innocence inbetween
"the unbearable lightness of being" a remix
time holds us in its merciful circles
the rest is a mystery, why I love you

the light is raging, colours are hiding
when we hide our hearts full of dusk
we are mercenaries of ensoulment
listening to this manic-depressive couple,
power and helplessness, makes one wanna scream:
darkness is vulnerable too
clockwise the mind in action flows looking for its anti-time,
our actions can stand as tall us
anticlockwise is a flow into the trance of the unknown
into foreign bodies full of the tension of keeping the light
apart from day

Magritte is dreaming his hat, Freud his pipe
The Empire of Light perhaps
Ceci est une pipe, a vital voyeurism, the pleasure of stirring up
so many levels to listen for their hidden symbols
we are antiparticles for each other, when we collide reality starts screaming for each soul to witness
but a homeless pain possesses our dreams
unable to recognize the ******* of caring

too tired for rage, I am only wondering
where to find the necessary love for this fiery world
I ask the trees, the birds, the mind of the wind,
I'll pray for them to teach me their grace

I carry this huge body inside me
of beings unknown
to themselves
they look at the walls
and don't tear them down
they murmur a refrain
indecipherable,
the self-hypnosis of life.

we live the best we can
in these lands
we seek each other out
and not find each other
only sometimes,
to our surprise.
we live in this body
of tears and fear.

I was little, very small,
it must be said.
I envied the flight of birds,
I crushed the flowers
with such a tenderness,
unbearable.
I had a feeling that poetry alone
had not pulled the bridge
from the shore of trust