Posts Tagged ‘writing’

Little Girl

Perfect little girl
standing right beside me
Never crying out
only on the inside

Know your name too well
constant thoughts of dying
See you in the mirror
stop with all your hiding

Time for you to stand
face all your demons
Time to get your voice
rise up and shout out

Stupid little girl
standing right beside me
Remember all your doubts
what’s the use in trying

Whispers in the hall
all around you laughing
Drowning out your voice
mocking as you’re dying

You stood up and faced it
fought with all your might
So bad, you taste it
now you wave the flag

No more little girl
gone and I replace you
Standing in your shell
awake the eastern sun


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Just because you stop believing… that doesn’t mean that it just goes away

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I dream ● Sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.

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creative late night

At some point in life, you start wondering what you’ve done wrong. What you did to have people assume you don’t have to be asked for favours or things, you will simply do them. It makes you wonder whether at some point you gave off the impression that you’re everyones slave; that they can decide over you and your time. And then you realise… I didn’t do anything. People are just rude, they try you and if you go along, if you don’t stand up for yourself, they will simply continue. Might even tell you at some point, when you say no, that you used to do it all the time. You realise that you have to stand up for yourself and put your foot down. I’m done dealing with people who have not the slightest bit of respect for me, who take me and my kindness for granted and who don’t think twice about having me do the stuff they simply don’t want to do. But I’m changing this, I’m too grown for it and I’m not going to just take it anymore. Private matters, so called friendships sometimes work the exact same way, or rather they don’t work, at all. When you hold on to friendships, just because. When friends irk you, make you feel like suffocating them and you can’t find it in your heart to just cut them out your life, just because. I wonder what it’s going to take. Old resentments on both sides sometimes make it tough to see clearly what lies ahead. They make it tough to see, that really, nothing lies ahead and that the mist of resentments simply obstructs the vision of what should have never been seen. So why can’t I find it in my heart to just say goodbye, just let go. I know all these things, why not call it a day and walk away. I guess, only time will tell. But I’m done giving it any more thought than it deserves.

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it’s good to see you, spring!

The Promise of Spring is one of hope and wishes. 
This is the time dreams somehow come alive again. Ambitions that seem to have slept through the winter, and nudged awake. In my frenzy to organize and tidy I bumped into volumes of poetry I have written, and journals that were kept when I  had so much more to say, than I do now. Have I gone more quiet over the years? 
But the Promise of good and better things is there. Within Spring. 
Where I will sit and write. Where I will take my camera with me where ever I go, and let the eye capture moments, that are otherwise forever forgotten. Like a thought that will never be uttered or spoken. 

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Noone ever forgives us for changing. They want us to be constant as the wind and always wear the same colours but we’re not meant to be that way. We’re supposed to be a little different each morning when we wake up and I think it’s our dreams that do it. Last night I was a sailor and woke with sand in my sheets and salt in my hair, and the night before that I was a wood nymph who rose with the dawn chorus and dewed lips. Every two years I change alltogether and become someone else wearing the same eyes. It’s a little uncomfortable, like a snake shedding skins. They never forgive me for changing but I do it with passion because you need to die a little bit now and then to feel alive.

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airplane rides & daisy chains

I love long airplane rides where I can look out the window and see everything and yet nothing at all. I adore the faint burning on my far too pale legs during summer, making daisy chains in grass just cut, wishing for a glow to prove it can shine in this country. I love hearing laughter, old and new, and memories – even if they make me cry. The written word is a beautiful thing and I’ll risk headaches and bleary eyes if it gives me the knowledge of one more love story. Everything is beautiful if you look through willing eyes, and there’s nothing more precious than a hug and a kiss.

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