i am becoming the girl i've always wanted to be

darling,
don't let them fool you
with their sweet chamomile gold,
perfumed coffee,
elegant and attractive champagne
or even sparkling, fun Cola.
for you are not tea,
their source of energy,
their party flavour
or their soda.
they will consume you in an instant.
because darling,
you are whisky in a crystal glass.
strong,
liquid fire,
unable to be understood by many,
but oh, so addictive.


-May Colde

she is tired.
she is tired of the Sun always shining
on the perfect figures of the forgotten ancient Gods
and their pagan daughters,
drowning in gold and in sparkling lava rivers.
she is tired
when everyone walks in the right direction
just to escape from the cold breeze of a pouring rain,
to arrive in their comfortable homes just to stay hours
and hours in a hot bathtub
"it's been a rough day",
tamed by the running water,
but afraid by the ever flowing
and alive rain.
she is tired of the perfect muses,
the ivory shapes of the perfect cover bodies nowadays,
who sacrifice their souls to the
hungry society,
who buys and sells them to the
even hungrier public,
being devoured alive and becoming a dark,
fearful and overly docile
"soul".
she is tired of the
"you should take care more of yourself"
"you should act your age"
"you should do something with that pretty face of yours"
and she just feels like running,
but not running to someone,
but dancing
with the wind as her partner,
because no one can understand her power
and her shapshifting personality like him,
so she grooves unlike other people,
and she is not moved by them,
but they shudder and they are moved
by her dance.
she is tired
of people fearing the Unknown
and afraid to ask,
be curious,
and wild,
so she invites the Unknown
each night
to spend some time with her
and to watch the stars
and he teaches her about the fire they are made from
the celesital fire that exists within
each and every one of us
but it is put out
by every bitter,
as heavy as the ocean
tear, which drips from
the darkest and most hidden corners from our
beating, but oh, so wounded hearts.
she is tired by the gruesome horrors
that make some lives
just existential,
creating scared puppets,
with strings as painful as iron chains
hanging from their backs.
so she releases from them
with every new step that she takes.
she is tired of everyone comparing her
to a soft flower,
pink and naive,
not being allowed to fully bloom
or to grow her own thorns.
she is tired of everyone who
longs so much to fly,
that they forget how to walk,
barefoot on the wet grass,
among misty forests at dawn,
feeling the Father Earth beneath our feet.
yes, she is tired.
but this means that in this sleepy,
poisoned world,
she is awake.

I am melting gold on my papers.
I’m wandering trough words of honey
to spread them on your soul,
just to make it a little more sweet.
There is an explosion of light
running trough a field of breadcrumbs
from my crumpled,
but rich like blood red jam
imagination.
I write my sins with candy canes
sugarcoating them
‘cause I am only afraid
you won’t remember my good
but you will never forget my bad.
There is only hope,
hanging from a rope
and, of course,
love,
who’s silently dripping from my heart,
oh, my heart,
my only enemy
destroying me,
turning my whole lighthearted existence
into a heavy tar abyss.
not only does it hurt,
but it also tastes bitter.
like coffee during golden hours,
hot and black,
but, oh so good
and so relieving,
it becomes my essence,
my blood.
So I return to honey and candy canes
and hide behind my fingers
and behind my lying eyes.
But I reveal myself at night,
being at my true self,
a sinner,
a liar,
a poet.



-May Colde

one sheep
two sheep
and I’m trying to fall asleep.

three sheep
four sheep
I can’t remember what I’m waiting for.

five sheep
six sheep
but I can hear their howl.

seven sheep
eight sheep
there must be wolves at the door.

nine sheep
ten sheep
or my husband returned from war.

eleven sheep
twelve sheep
when did I get out in the hall?

another sheep
and a sheep
I don’t know what I’m looking for.

a sheep
and a sheep
and I hear a roar.

sheep
and sheep
why was I coming at the door ?

a sheep
another sheep
I must go and try to sleep.

one sheep
two sheep
and I’m trying to fall asleep.




-May Colde

I am writing my wounds
for others’ to heal.
I am turning my pain into ink
so that your tears will find my words
too beautiful to erase.
I am acting like a madman
for you to see that you’re not alone.
I am crying when I’m writing
so that you won’t need to do so.
I am smiling when I’m writing
so you can do it too.
I sprinkle hope over my art
so you can feel it too.
I store melancholy,
nostalgia
and secrets
behind my dark letters,
so they won’t steal the light from you.
I am writing for you,
the one filled with rage,
pain,
sadness
and fear.
Let my words heal you.  


-May Colde

sometimes I just want
to be woken up at 3 a.m.
in the morning
just to watch the stars.
to see what are they doing
while we are asleep.
because no one knows how
they live
how they truly shine.
stardust on our eyelids
to make us fall
asleep
on purpose.
their energy may fill
the entire
Universe
and we,
us,
so innocent,
so naive,
we may never know what they are
up to.
for they can bring life
with their warmth
and their light
but they can
give birth to chaos,
in an abyss of a black hole.
supernovas,
the death of a star,
we think we know them.
but how about their birth?
you never see their spells
how they conjure up and
sing together
and dance through constellations
to welcome their new sister.
no one knows.
not even the Giant
Cosmos
can predict what they can do.
so,
no new stars.
the same light.
with the same speed.
billions and billions
light years
away.
and the distance may come to us
and hunt our minds.
are they still alive ?
are they still emanating
pure, golden
chaos?
unfortunately,
for the heartbroken,
former lovers' eyes
represent the stars.
and oh, how tragic
and beautifully melancholic
it is
to better think that
the stars don't shine anymore.
if not for them,
than fo no one.
don't share the night sky with anyone.
don't wake up just to catch them.
don't dismiss their magic stardust
that puts you to sleep.
because they will enchant you
and make you wish
you never shared their secrets with anyone,
not even yourself.


-May Colde