I was full of pus,

and chock-full of hormones too --


A pimple on legs.

I had to kiss him,

my wings are breaking through now --


they itch on my back.

Amsterdam! Free
man of the world you want to be

your wild eyes threaten
my father hand, please, send
an angel, light, a woman
a favourable wind, sweet dreams
someone, something to help you
unbreakable mirrors if need be

Father, mother, earth, universe
make something happen, of course
who sees everything, does not know why
to intervene

freedom would be meaningless
if for adults only

understanding and obedient
everything with measure, giving up
what is beautiful and attractive
and smiling
at the discontented excuses
and lies of the past

You grow up wounded
I too have built, defended
and then demolished
castles and walls -

old men's proud
of the scars of my fight

Dad thinks I'm fighting,

I do, I'm fighting the wind --


in his idle mind!

Stubble field
husks in the air
dry summer scents

poplar trees along the ditch
our haystack at the end
inside, out of sight

our cave
pulled and pushed
in the long yellow grass

I dream that I am with you
lying there, naked
like newborn animals

that's all
nothing else matters
we may die

that's our secret
mum doesn't understand
she is afraid

Persephone wears flowers
and tough jackboots like a soldier
with muscles, or an open waistcoat
with a mini skirt like a ******, always
conquering the instincts around her

In Coco's dress, she parades on Jersey
the transparent plastic rustles
every time I kiss it
passers-by take photos
she is in the newspapers

Spring has begun
old desires wake up
people get aroused
and inspired to let themselves go
she is an example

everyone sees her, but doesn't know who she is
flowers cover her bare body
she charms soldiers and virgins
with instincts, singing her praises
and creating life

is this
what it feels like
to be a fossil
in the making?
to have pebbles,
sand and grit
swept slowly
on top of me.
not to mention
the crushing
and deafening
of miles of water
pressing it all down
to bury me.

but sometimes
sometimes there's
relief and light
when someone
digs through the
weight to reveal
the shadow of the
creature that once
lay there.
but then that husk
is reduced to
cinders in a mountain
of others.
and i guess you could say
that 'power station'
is adulthood.
or life.

I live deep inside my own head.
I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever make it out.
Alive.
I don’t know what living is anymore.
I’m never fully present.
There’s always a piece of me off somewhere else.
My mind wonders off...
I don’t even have control of it anymore.
I do it subconsciously.
I’ve been in my own head for so long now.
I don’t know where it all began.
Maybe puberty.
When I was in 5th grade I became a “woman.”
I was also hurt deeply by many people that year.
Friends introduced me to things a little girl should never be exposed to.
Then middle school was tragic.
I was hurt more times than I can count.
Maybe that’s when the day dreaming began.
The real world hurt me so badly that I had to create my own world.
My own reality.
After awhile I stopped knowing the difference.
Reality vs Fantasy
What is there to pursue in this reality?
Motivation left me years ago.
I beg her to come back but she never does.
Why should I pursue dreams in the real world, when I can achieve so much more in my world.
I guess that’s why Motivation left me.
She served no purpose in my life anymore.
I now live for the small things in the real world.
Seeing a new movie. Eating at my favorite restaurant. Hanging out with my best friend.
...
I’ll save the big stuff for my world.

They flutter a bit,

the newly born butterflies –


guessing at flowers.

there’s a rabbit with moon hooded eyes inside of my heart
and every night she looks up to the stars
yearning not to break apart

my rabbit and i feel fine most of the time
but when she starts racing i cry
because my mind believes my existence is a crime

and my heart can’t take it
she thinks she must’ve stopped
so she relentlessly pumps
creating dangerous music; thud thud thud

and look! there goes my rabbit
thrashing around in my war torn lungs
creating chaos in case of catastrophe
because future battles must always be won