#repression
there are countless conversations
buried in my throat
like those „I love you”
I swallowed like fish bones
and before they slip out
I start to choke
and when they see it...
those eyes
pierce me with disgust
and the worst part isn’t the choking
or the eyes
it’s that I chose this tongue
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 4:38 PM UTC
There's a box, I keep
in my head.
Tied tight,
ligature marks, carving deep divots,
into thick cardboard.
Fingernail moons,
raking vertical slashes,
into decaying animal skin.
You press the four walls,
to their outer limits.
Threatening,
sometimes
to break its sides,
and spill out, in front of me.
Repression, is the blade
I draw in,
close,
to my chest.
Breath, in a hitch
as I watch you unwind,
the rope, I use
to hold you, in.
I stay ready. Grounding.
Dizzy, with the force,
of dissociation
a burning mass, of scars,
and torn tissue
floating off, into the ether, of nothing
until I forget
that I'm even whole,
and breathing.
I stay armed,
with the bread knife, I'll use
to remove
the doughy ends,
of your fingers
should they ever snake up my leg,
or defile me, again.
... And there's no room for "pretty",
in the box, that you live in.
First kisses,
and first romances
taste,
like ash, and salt.
I treasure none, of what we ever were.
Your existence,
became the arsenic
that blued, my protruding tongue.
Sweet milk, and honeyed memories
have long since putrefied.
My flavor palette
has never been,
quite the same
since the day...
that I finally left Stockholm.
Mar 29
Mar 29, 2026 at 6:58 PM UTC
My skin is like plastic.
Fake , stretchy and elastic.
It burns me at the worst of times,
stings me enough to make me rhyme.
Bubbling under my skin ,
A whirlwind that I find sin.
Tidal waves reach to heights unknown,
a smile glued to my face as if sown.
Into the spiral that is my core ,
I could not possibly change any more.
My skin peels to reveal a pearly smile ,
beneath I beg and scream with denial.
Feb 28
Feb 28, 2026 at 6:26 PM UTC
Remember that old bottle?
It was a Cabernet...
I think.
A Sauvignon;
and I couldn't recall,
the label.
But I could never forget,
the Duchess, herself:
cold, yet clad
about the throat,
and shoulders,
in a ruby red bolero.
...Well, anyway, I dropped her,
and I broke her, today.
You could tell, she wasn't...
a loved vintage.
...but she was, once:
now, an old maid,
...left, to corall
the dust kitties, on a shelf
in a cellar, that smells, and tastes
of soupy dry rot...
and blackest grief.
...I had long, thought
...you, and I...
were safely shelved, away,
where your edges...could never,
and no longer, hurt me,
but her filmy sides, brushed...
my careless fingers,
and I jumped.
...She took a dive, off the balcony.
Ejecting thrown pieces,
through collapsing floorboards;
showering the woodlice,
with shrapnel, and vinegar.
...She exploded, like a ***** bomb.
...The stink, of miserable loss...
the pain...of sour grapes
...wafted, up, towards open nostrils.
She lay, supine: broken,
and bleeding, before me, as I knelt.
I sifted through, her open belly
like a surgeon
performing, an emergency Caesarean...
...with dry, dutiful palms.
I gathered each shard, of glass;
expecting--every moment--
for the memory, of you...
to pull me under, and drown me,
beneath its darkening pool.
Yet, even so...
I remained ashore.
...But before I could withdraw,
my sopping...fragile hands,
from the red tide,
wring them dry...
and sigh...with delayed relief...
I felt, my flesh, awaken
from its drunken stupor:
alive, screaming, and embossed
with fine grains,
of powdered glass.
......I felt every sliver.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 7:36 AM UTC
These feelings
old memories
unexpressed
not lost
just festering
like maggots in a crimson drawer
polite rot,
ugly’s rehearsal in an invisible mask
they called it “coping”
I called it
an audition for the collapse
truth sits in the dark with its mouth sewn shut
but the fingers twitch,
the breath stammers,
and the skin tells stories
that lips choke back
secrets drip through pores
no mortal stays clean
freedom?
you mean
the prison where I build my own walls
and call them boundaries
where I sign my name in blood
on every oath I never meant to keep
you want my freedom?
take my guilt, too
it comes in chains
with a mirror
I dreamed of drowning in my own skull
the waves were laughter
"Royal Road," they whispered
but the map was in hieroglyphics
and the key was shame
no torch,
just instincts gnawing
through ego's leash
love
the elegant executioner
comes dressed in silk
with a knife shaped like
a promise
the iceberg mind
a cathedral with only one open pew
and six sunk in shadows
we float
but not really
you want peace?
talk to the soft voice
the whisperer
the intellect that scratches the chalkboard of your spine
until you finally
turn around
and say:
“Yes, that was me.”
struggle?
it kissed me with cracked lips
and called it salvation
now I look back
and see
a cathedral of scars
lit by the ghost of my becoming
and still,
I bleed from the cuts
from every buried word
I dared not speak.
Feb 7
Feb 7, 2026 at 7:31 PM UTC
We DESERVE to have true friends
We DESERVE to feel we’re with everyone else, accepted
We DESERVE to be respected
We DESERVE to be heard without anxiety
We DESERVE to feel calmness
We DESERVE to enjoy the restoration of deep sleep
We DESERVE to be at peace with the feeling of failure
We DESERVE to feel comfortable with our flaws and the story behind them
We DESERVE to have our opinion
We DESERVE the ability to change our mind without judgement
We DESERVE to show our vulnerability
We DESERVE not to be loyal to our negativity
We DESERVE to feel nourished
We DESERVE to forgive ourselves as freely as we forgive others
We DESERVE to own that (slightly expensive) non-essential
We DESERVE to know what it feels like to be special
We DESERVE to turn away from hate
We DESERVE to turn away from force
We DESERVE the ability to let go…
We DESERVE the right to choose to ignore
We DESERVE to rest
We DESERVE to feel free
We DESERVE the liberty
to reveal all of me.
We now believe we DESERVE all of this…
We all DESERVE to fly…! 😊
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 4:32 AM UTC
I would sigh in relief
As my problems would drain
Out of sight, out of mind
Poured in pipes went my pain
No one taught me that seeing
Never shows all that stays
The new growing grime
Grew in shadows, hid away
No one told me that sinks
Needed more than a shine
That broken hidden pipes
Flood and fill with grime
I would sigh in relief
as the problems sank and swirled
who knew ignoring underneath
would flood my whole world
Oct 18, 2025
Oct 18, 2025 at 4:22 PM UTC
Fear teaches me, sort of aimlessly.
Blaming a resilience I wish I'd seen,
The punch I wish I’d been -
A prey I wished I'd hit.
Overshadowing the dopamine I’d like to feel.
Via guilt-induced tears, effortfully shield-building
Via timeless dampening -
I’m nervously standing, brainlessly censoring.
Jul 18, 2025
Jul 18, 2025 at 5:37 PM UTC
there will come a time, my friend
where you’ll look back on that
road full of bumps and potholes
whole, being able to look in the mirror
and see yourself, not shame, not despair
just you wait
May 31, 2025
May 31, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun
I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run
Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one
When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed
Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John
Jan 16, 2025
Jan 16, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
I used to know how to write about my body,
how to take this amalgamation of memory
and harness it into something beautiful
but somewhere along the lines I lost myself.
lately I have been hiccupping at the edge of a knife
nerves running rampant beneath my skin
nothing to say to this pain threating violence to this body.
I try to look grief in the eyes these days
but inside I am still that small fragile girl
wishing ripped hair follicles were the only thing
falling apart on this body.
But I have made a mess of not feeling
not writing, just running away from
the knife that begs to cut me open.
I have kept it so close to my chest
never wanting to see how this trauma
could exit so tragically
due to a single memory.
but here I sit, hand full of hair
blade to my forehead
wishing this childhood was
just a nightmare I could wake up from.
and the knife isn't real
but the memories still are
so still I sit
hands empty, chest aching
at all they have done to me.
take and take and take
this body that still after 29 years
doesn't feel like it belongs to me.
So I return
knife to paper
pen to paper
fingers to keys
wishing I could make something
beautiful
out of
my own
remembering.
Jan 8, 2025
Jan 8, 2025 at 10:03 PM UTC
There’s nowhere for me,
nowhere I can scream—
quietly, peacefully.
I can’t disturb,
the gentle, quiet Night.
These tears know, too—
They only know one home,
stuck deep inside.
They drown in the ocean,
wondering when they will
fly from my eyes.
The time comes.
I shake, I tremble.
My soul goes ragged—
with grief, with joy,
with guilt, with love,
with anger, with hope.
It’s wretchedly beautiful.
I raise my chin.
I shake, I tremble.
But only a crack
forms in the dam.
Only a stream
seeps into my lap.
I unhinge my jaw.
I shake, I tremble.
I try to *****
the full blue moon.
But not a sound disturbs,
the gentle, quiet Night.
I can’t hear myself.
But it's screaming.
It claws, it hungers,
it wants out.
But I’m not ready.
My heart has grown
too attached to the weight,
of this dead child
hiding inside me.
Nov 12, 2024
Nov 12, 2024 at 9:33 PM UTC
An ice floe made of gathered up snow
that fell over thousands of years:
The snow’s source water had achingly grown
from billions of sweat drops and tears
But now the floe turns and starts to flow
in rivers of thawed out heart-ice
and emotions once caged start to angrily glow —
An avalanche loosed from its vice
The glacier crashes, a tectonic shift
as mountains of blue-white burst the dam:
The inland is transformed by dramatic drift —
Who will find new order in the break of the jam
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 10:05 AM UTC
my heart is hole punched
hidden in the back of my folder
rings clamped tight
to keep it from fluttering away
and though i don't write in pen
my words still bleed
ink smudged arteries
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 3:17 PM UTC
sordid scripture,
warring woman,
both menace and coquettish innocence
—barricaded.
statues,
fountains,
and restraining orders,
filling the garden:
decorations of
sunlight on a clock,
and a view into tomorrow,
revealing the "texture" of her skin
within the realm of her navel,
as soft as lace,
as smooth as
the surface of a pond.
before diving in
gives an otherworldly radiance,
her shape and smile
compared to everyday realities
are solemn in the extreme,
the dawn threatens
to break in the east.
her voice,
(a lungfully deep, sensuous purr),
is so distinctive,
come what may,
this could be happiness:
sullen, waylaid and capricious,
her urban sexuality hidden
in the attic of revolution,
suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow
of colored lights and tinsel.
desire is like Christmas
—it always promises
more than it delivers.
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 1:09 PM UTC
Foreign bodies with foreign bodies,
unknown hands with unknown hands,
we said we are in love together,
but we don't know where we stand;
such is the torture
of ghosts loving ghosts,
you never dared to tell me who you were,
nor I shared with you who I am.
Look at us now,
just two shadows in love,
no wonder when the two converged,
they slipped right through each other.
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 11:02 PM UTC
A quicksand cyclones downward at the center,
A spiraling hole spun around by the sands that enter,
They scratch at the innards of my heart,
Pulling everything down and ripping it apart,
I’ve tossed so many things at it,
But they just drop into this endless pit,
Nothing seems to fill it up,
Instead everything just gets ****** up,
It’s like having my flesh sliced by scattered grains,
Spun at high velocity as it sheers against my veins,
Carving out tiny wounds accumulate into scars,
Blood seeping, lost and disappearing with its cause,
Cries are ****** up and then dispersed,
Scattered into pieces until it’s no longer heard,
Screams are silenced by a ringing vacuum,
Run through bleeding veins buried in my womb,
It’s like something wants to come up,
Like a volcano that’s ready to erupt,
Everything that’s been sunk and saturated full,
It’s getting ready to finally burst my soul,
I didn’t want to shut it all up,
It wasn’t my choice to have it all ****** up,
I tried so hard to pull it out with my strength,
But I underestimated the length of my pain,
It’s been loaded and treated with all its vice,
So I don’t know how to clean it up nice,
I think my exterior is too thick for it to ever explode,
But I think that one day, I am going to implode.
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 12:56 AM UTC
the poet's quill wrote about
the merit of free
expression
never would it become
a prisoner of
repression
the poet's quill being enduring
of its staunch
belief
that to stymie liberty's voice could
cause but
grief
the poet's quill did
not shy
away
its purpose was intent on conveying
in an unfettered
way
Jan 21, 2021
Jan 21, 2021 at 6:23 AM UTC
Emotion bottled and shaken
to the point of explosion,
Risking a state of total destruction
With the simple rising of a raging white cap,
Twisted by the stormy hands of inner turmoil.
Slapping waves of reaction
Against mountains of addictive distraction,
Causing one an internal Mexican standoff,
Presenting a decision, diamond in the rough:
Raise the white flag of resistance.
Offer yourself some relief assistance,
Breathing in a meditative manner,
Setting a slow releasing standard,
Steadily releasing emotional pressure
In a controlled state of measure;
Or
Find yourself dead on the floor,
Having exploded in an internal combustive roar,
Because you fought to hold in the building Pressure.
Attempted cognitive deconstruction,
Neglected yourself thriving construction,
Fearing your own atomic reaction
to the explosive emotional canter.
Either choice resulting in emotional disruption...
Eruption,
But only one in total annihilation.
-Marie Moldovan ©️ 2020
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 1:04 AM UTC
I want to say please don’t leave,
I still have your coat in my wardrobe
and it looks like you can’t have gone far,
and please don’t leave, I don’t know
where else I’m supposed to stay
when it’s two in the morning
and everything feels like communion,
and please don’t leave, I am having to confront
how selfish I am.
So you’re leaving, and I’m trying to work out
if I should pack my memories into little boxes
and pretend that you’ve died, and you’re leaving
so I’m on the floor in my bedroom thinking
about going somewhere and trying to find Judas
or at least a tree with sturdy branches and the end
of a rainbow with thirty silver coins as compensation.
And now you’ve left, or at least made the decision
to leave, and here I am again trying to wave you off
with images in my mind of the Titanic leaving behind
everyone who couldn’t afford to die so grandly;
you’ve left, and I’m using metaphors to talk about this
because it’s easier than genuflecting and joining
a faceless pew - sorry, don’t think I’m calling myself Jesus
because I’m not. Really, I’m not. But you’ve left,
so don’t I have the right to call myself what I want?
It’s not like you’re here to stop me. There’s that word,
gone,
like it’s final, like you’ve joined the laundry list
of everyone who said they’d be there forever. You’re gone,
and I’m promising myself that I’ll stop being addicted
to people, only cigarettes and cheap wine and the feeling
of missing something when it isn’t quite packed up
into all of the final moving boxes just yet.
Aug 9, 2020
Aug 9, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC