Compliance

I miss my inner light today but it is okay.
I am embracing my darkness just the same.
It is a part of me as well
and I have learned that without the bleak,
my heart has trouble finding the brightness that I seek.

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Big City Monday

Snow on Sunday night, mud on Monday morning
Long lines everywhere, people are growling
No trains in sight, everything delayed
Two flakes of snow and my city’s half-crazed
Central Station’s busy, I order a Chai
The guy at the counter unfriendly, I sigh
My Evil Queen outfit the smoke screen I need
Paired with her posture, I feel more upbeat
Until on the boardwalk I see a dead mouse
Its corpse fully smashed, in slush fully dowsed
The sight of it breaks me, my eyes water fast
My issues on hold now, this image will last

Taking a Breath

Sometimes loving yourself requires all the strength you have left, but it is always worth it because no one else can ever fill that void you’ve created through harsh criticism and self-hatred. As long as you fear being yourself and hide your scars, you will never allow your heart to dance and take the chance of living rather than existing in the shadows of your dreams and the left-over glory of everyone you put above yourself.

At the Risk of Being Me

On my lowest of days when darkness surrounds my heart and fills it with rage I wonder what I ever saw in you. When my anger results in tears, my frustration born out of arrogance and pride, I also realize how much I owe you though – a new beginning, a lesson, a spark coz for the first time in my life I truly fell in love. And that’s the gift I’ll always remember you for, although I really need to let you go and outgrow those feelings that once made me whole. You don’t want them, that is more than clear, so I have to be strong and let go of my fear of being unlovable, prickly or wrong. Bottom line: I need to move on.

Missing Pieces

And just as I understood that I have never known who you really are
that loving you has made no sense
that I fell for an image of who I wanted you to be
an idea rather than a person
a simple sentence made me crumble
reminding me that my heart has had its say in this and not my mind
and that it misses you

A Letter to My Future Daughter

Don’t hide behind a hashtag. Be the change you want to see. Support your fellow women. Believe them when they tell you a man you know has molested them. Don’t belittle them in response. Don’t tell them that’s just how it is. Don’t be a silent victim, speak up if you have been harassed. Teach your children to have self-respect and voices of their own. Raise your sons to be feminists and your daughters to be respectful to them in return. Don’t expect women to be better than men. We are not. We are just as flawed. Don’t call yourself goddess or a queen. We are all humans. Just imagine if men called themselves gods and kings. Don’t call other women bitches just because they disagree with you. Don’t sell yourself short for a relationship. Don’t objectify other women or reduce them to their looks. As an artist, create the content that you miss. Write female leads without abuse. Don’t tell their stories in relation to a man but let them be strong for themselves. Don’t support violence. Don’t promote, condone or further it on stage or screen. Don’t be a part of what in real life you oppose. Take responsibility for your actions. Simply practice what you preach.

Sunday Stroll

20°, the sun unusually strong for a day in mid October. A woman leans against a tree, her feet bare on the grass still luscious green. Her bike right next to her, her head buried in a book – she makes me pause. A group of seniors playing cards on a stump. Fallen trees all around them like wooden corpses as the last remnants of a storm so heavy it knocked out an entire city for a day. Unusual for us. I look at them, the splinters, bark and branches. They make me sad. All those golden crowns depleted on the ground, the random specks of red like drops of blood. My park was wounded badly, I can see that now. And every tree that lost its grip with roots too weak to withstand a tempest on muddy ground slows my steps and makes my heart cry out. How vile that force of nature, a tantrum really, sudden, crass. Such a reflection of my year or less self-centered: the world at large. That’s why the woman sitting by the tree caught my attention. Engulfed still by her story, she oozes calm.

French Vanilla

Your kiss tasted like waffles in my dreams today
Sugar-laced
Macchiato foam still on your lips
A touch of cinnamon caught in those grooves
carved in by laughter, mischief and sensation
your mouth adorned
your tongue French touched
inviting me to savour you
and sate my hunger
for your love