Do not hide
a single tear dripping
down from your chin
do not listen
to the jealous
insecure choir
be male
be delicate
❦

Are you a reptile
age-old and wrinkled
but wise as it were
and super slow

Look
it's okay to me
cause I'm the same

Everything goes
a bit too fast
at times

Let's slow it down
and slow the pace
of everything
so that we can
enjoy it fully

how sticks and stones
sometimes
connect with you

how different notes
of fragrance
put you into
another place and time-

how feathers
fabrics
woes
are talking to your eyes
and how

in wind
and water-
and in light-

how there are
calming sounds
of peace and knowing

and just how gentle
(and how smart)
they guide you

through the night

A caterpillar and a butterfly walk side by side along a forest path. Another caterpillar passes by and looks at them, intrigued.
“Are you not jealous?” he shouts, before he can stop himself.
They stop and seem surprised. Then, the butterfly answers:
“Yeah, well, sometimes, but look, I can fly now, that’s something!”
Ashamed and more irritated than ever, the enquirer scuttles away without another word.
The butterfly looks at his friend. “Does he not know?”
The caterpillar shrugs. “Maybe not. Some don’t.”
“Well, someday he’ll find out.”, says the butterfly amiably, and they walk on.

And YES
my forehead feels
as if
about to break
open

and Yes it sometimes
freaks me out

and then
it stops-

Now, tell me Love
I guess I am allowed
to be
******* afraid
at times

To run
if only for a while
and NOT face ****
that's thrown at me
as side effect

as all that catches up
on this ferocious drift-

Look left, look right. What is it that is really going on? What is this running about?
You look down to your feet. Where you have stopped, a nest of bluebells has grown out of the pavement and bravely snuggles into the holes of your white sneakers, its friendly and courageous purple almost seems to be greeting you. Only, you don’t hear it yet. The sidewalk has burst open in a kind of slow motion, and the roots of a nearby plane tree have cork-******* out of the concrete to breathe the air. Two ladybugs sit on a fresh cherry blossom, looking up to you.
Now look back, think. What is all the running about?

The whole
you being
destructively sad and
raging
being
childlike full of tremendous
joy being
a silent
observer piercing
every thing
being
a hilarious fool one eye
fixed upon
the truth,
still-
being
a deep deep feeling
creature rejecting the
building of
fixed walls-
rather
tired of the motion
being
the seeing kid that feels and
understands
the push and pull
and navigates
through it
with a fierce
perseverance
a breath so persistent
it could give you
a pause
more often
letting go just
a bit of
the existential
relentlessness

When you got through to
The utter and absolute
Core
Of yourself and your eyes water
And your knees tremble cause
In your Heart the word
Reverberates and echoes:
Trust

You cast your eyes down and I see your eyelashes, black and white, alternately gracing the see-through skin. You are in a state of such vulnerability that I do not even want to tell you, dare to tell you,
how beautiful you look from here, how your -
How you amaze me just by sitting like this,
so obviously ashamed of the closeness and with what is materialising
in the air, so thick we could slice it, and probably do so -
I think too much, still.
And you probably hear me thinking, not the thoughts though.
But I let a bit of the time pass, just like this, looking at you
because I cannot not be looking;
you averting your gaze, exuding what I feel to be just one
little
beat away from connecting.
I will wait a bit more, but I will not walk further away from here.
For I already see your left hand twitching a little, relaxing
just a tiny bit, getting ready to actually stretch out - and it makes
my stomach and throat and chest tighten in a rebellious sort of maybe-it’ll-be-too-much - so yes, it is me, too. It is me who is making the air thick, and my breathing heavy.
A sense of foreboding so palpable.
So I’ll wait.

Who are you
to raise your voice
it sounds
shattering through the clouds

where were you
when I laid
the surface of the earth-

then
coughing
laughing warmly

an invisible hand
touches my shoulder blade
and comforts me

Feel free to join me here,
the voice goes on,
for you were there with me
from the beginning-

The hand squeezes me softly-

And who am I
to question that*.

The good Things...

Do you deserve them - do you not deserve them
It is not even a question; it is an obstacle. Just another boulder to be dissolved;
but slowly, cautiously. Because this
One
Last
Boulder
Has been placed there with fearful force
And by many hands labouring
To block out the things
To have a buffer
Basically
to gain
time
to be able to get
Ready-

Now you know. You can breathe.
No force needed, Love.
Take your time and
Get
Yourself
ready

The Things will be delighted

❀

A sharp knife in
her hands she separates
that which does not belong-
which rejects
integration

She highlights-
like the lines pointing
towards emergency-
the puffy artificial stuff

the rough parts-
those that give you a
real headache trauma

all drama, all that sticks
to you and makes you
heavy-

drop it now
go on
be ready to
explode

Jumping in and
out of
allowing
is the most
exhausting
state