To the Lucky Ones

This letter comes to tell you a few things I know to be true, in the naive hope that you won’t mind me not always leading by example. You see, I believe that love, even the love radiating from a stranger’s writings, is better than no love at all, and this is my way of passing it on. Love, as you know, is the only mechanism there is that can put both your warmth and your strength into motion, make you both gentler and more self-assured, sing you to sleep and ready you for war in the same voice. I will spare you the kind of love that social networks, extended families and old lovers are for – that yes, you are beautiful, unique, cared for and always welcomed home (wherever, whomever or whatever your home is) and no, not everybody can love you the same despite this. Instead I’ve got others, wrapped in just as much love, I promise you that. Take a deep breath. Read on. [...]

I Am a Work of Fiction

It was going to be either me or this world that was going to make it – and it was going to be the world, no doubt. The world as we know it can not be unwritten, and writing in small letters on top of the script will only create chaos and confusion. I learned that it was not the way to ask others to read me in my voice; they couldn’t decipher me, and abandoned me after my first paragraphs. I could blame them for not learning to read between the lines, or I could rewrite myself from scratch, swap my past for the new and present it to them instead. And if they bought it, I could paste it into a hugely absorbing novel with a vivid style and a mad girl for the main character, like they don't make them anymore. And whatever corner of the world they'd have gotten themselves chained up to, when they'd read me they'd say, More please. And they'd think it was just a work of fiction, when it was me they read through all along. [...]

Nothing Is Ever the Same As They Said It Was

The street shines glossy black after the rain. Pavement cafés are crowded, and vehicles hiss by – their roars constantly approaching, breaking, receding. I watch them holding my breath, forgetting to blink. I am alert, but null. The restlessness of the city mirrors mine tonight, and slowly tempers it. I've always enjoyed lights, noises, explosions. They came to me like divine permission to sit back and enjoy the ride. The world was happening. I wasn’t in charge of holding it together. What a relief – for an hour, not needing to be in control. I sit in the dark and hold time in slow gear. Either the experiment, or my sanity, will fail. They are eyeball to eyeball, waiting for one another to blink. I bet on being mad. It’s late, so very late for this. I should have started earlier. I should have started sooner. I’m not surprised how many insomniacs are out here, I’m actually pleased. And I’m not worried either, because this switch reminds me how young I’m getting and I’m almost, almost close to seventeen again; when the ice was melting and I was gently growing from its underneaths. [...]

Waking Up With Stories on My Mind to Tell Nobody

You see, I write with my chest open. I dip my pen in my soul and write about my dearest continents: my stories, my beloved ones, my heart’s homes. I don’t use my imagination enough, like a writer should. Instead I stick to what I know and tell the truth in its purest, most naive simplicity, then sit at home for days waiting for forgiveness and redemption. I check my mail frantically and hope for kinder words than my own from above, from him, from them. I write everybody love letters and dream of how one day I will become a book in their hands. Will they understand me then? I can already see the first page: As you read this, you're stepping inside. Welcome. Don't tiptoe, don't whisper, don't close the door behind you. In my chest you can be crazy loud and reckless. This is how I am too. [...]

You Want to Talk About the Poems I Write About Us

Sometimes little things tip me into euphoria. Sitting at a bus stop at sunset, the warm wind rushing in every direction through my dark hair, over my bared golden skin. When I close my eyes I'm a mermaid. The coins in my hand are seashells. I take dips into the imagination ocean and the rest of the day feels old, as if all the things happened last year. I'm caught in an underwater current. My very own reality swallows time, and if I stayed the people who'd find me could never trace the clues on my skin of when I sank and disappeared. The scent of my soul is the smell of rainforest. The world rains on me and I come into bloom. Freedom is the missing piece of the puzzle. When everything else is making sense of the mess, this is the mess. [...]

Raw Writings

Neon lights and glasses of wine, noises and words and Garbage’s Run Baby Run, his hands, a whisper, body heat and kisses I never knew before tonight. Triviality and getting lost and living in the moment, the present is all that matters, always paddle your own canoe, sharp teeth and laughing sounds and special effects and too much to drink. Night after night and day after day until all the joy leaks out of my mind and I’m left alone again. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not close to anything. I’m floating, but I’m not airy and light and easy like a fucking Sunday morning. I’m a flock of questions marks flying back and forth and eventually in circles. The writing on the wall is in ten-foot fluorescent orange letters. Get out. Get out. Get the fuck out of here. Get out of my head. Get out of me. [...]

A Train Hurtles Through the Night at Top Speed

I wasn’t ready for your cool breezes, for your mind swirling tornadoes, for your soul pouring down on me like drizzle and going deeper down my skin, like love. I wasn't ready. I couldn't inhale the life force in you, let your vitality pump in my veins, let you remove my every fright, refresh my heart, and renew myself wholly. I wanted to be fierce and strong and new, but I was my own prisoner, baby, and that’s why you couldn't have me. I ran away, M, don’t hate me. At the end of it all, I’ll know who’s the girl behind the image, who’s the beast behind the girl, and I hope it’s all the strength that you saw. For now there is no harbour here. I feel only restless. It's between me and what I hunger for. I want to burn so fast now, and I can't do it while you watch me. [...]