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i board the eurostar,
knots in my stomach,
anxiety clinging like static.
i may get charged
for the emotional weight
my heart and i packed
in my luggage.

then a guy across the aisle
mistakes me for a being
you can turn to for guidance.
his travelling companion,
anxiety, also had a reserved seat,
and soon, the four of us share
one nervous heartbeat
in carriage sixteen.

human panic in motion,
he’s vibrating with nerves,
scents of worry
seeping through his shirt.
but he calms me,
and eventually we both
drift into sleep.

we’re halfway there,
when we wake,
and rapid fires emerge
in-between the yawning.
discussing the speed,
the delay, the weather.
now, i don’t mind he found me.
there’s comfort in knowing
we can be scared together.
this one is about the quiet bond between strangers, linked by anxiety, crossing the channel to bruges.
july 30, 2025
i was sick of being
put in a box
labelled, ready to send.

i looked up holidays,
knowing if i didn’t stop,
i’d drop dead.

but even the thought
of going felt too much.

still, i clicked complete.
seats reserved
on the eurostar.

anything else
than being the other woman —
the one people fall for
when their hearts
should be sealed,
not crossed.

i need to reclaim
some of my old self
i’ve lost along the way.
maybe that’s a start.

it’s got to be enough.
this one is about being company under covers, and the ache of hurting myself, and others.
july 30, 2025.
he touched my arm
as he paid for his latte —
i smiled as he talked.
he’s going to budapest.
same time as me.

he asked if i could
recommend things to see.
easy.
the ruin bars,
the chain bridge.
the gellért baths,
if you like steam.

i could be your guide —
i didn’t say —
i know a great place
i could take you.
it doesn’t need a ticket.
conveniently,
it’s located
in my bedroom.
this one is about the crush who wanted to explore budapest, and made me consider becoming a private tour guide.
beneath the frog’s soft belly
i found you —
not grand, not loud,
but cracked open
like a peach too ripe with truth.

the city spun on,
drunk on ruin bars and ghosts,
but we stayed low,
where quiet grows —
thick like moss —
and hearts speak
without permission.

i didn’t say it back:
i love you.
as though feeling was a crime.
but i regret it now.
baby, i’d serve
a thousand sentences
for something so divine.

your heart
didn’t pour —
it flooded.
and now mine —
is finally open,
mouth full of your name.

i’ll let the fog burn
bright above us,
and we’ll watch
from our underworld
of whispering soil —
wine-warm,
thinly worn,
relentlessly soft.
this one is about a love i couldn’t name at the time — but everything in budapest knew.
July 18, 2025
Zywa Jul 17
Living simple, no

belongings, just floating on --


a plank in the sea.
Verse "Het leven beperken" ("Limiting life", 1994, Frida Vogels), published in "De harde kern" - 3 ("The *******" - 3) and in "Diary 1958-1959" (2006) - November 30th, in Milan

Collection "Trench Walking"
the peasant girl
who once brought water
from the well
in cracked hands
has returned.
she didn’t mean to
leave her home behind —
it was just to escape
the silence between
what she needed
and would be never given.
she left with nothing
but a hunger for life,
so she started living,
and never apologised.
this one is about the girl who returned, but didn't belong anymore.
july 12, 2025.
Chris Pea Jul 9
One day I went to France on a day trip
I returned later
It was OK
Matt Jul 6
"New year, new me,"
a mantra whispered into the dark,
as if the stroke of midnight
can wipe clean the etchings
of who we were at 11:59.

We wear the weight of traditions
like party hats—
countdowns, clinking glasses,
resolutions scrawled on napkins,
as though promises made in the haze of champagne
carry more truth.

At midnight, the world holds its breath,
waiting for the shift,
for time to absolve us.
But the seconds press on,
steady, indifferent,
while we convince ourselves
that this time it will be different.

Tomorrow, the confetti will settle.
The mirror will reflect the same face.
Yet somewhere in the flicker of a sparkler,
or the echo of laughter,
is the hope that pretending
might someday make it real.
I wrote this one on New Years Day 2025
Mariah Jul 5
How lucky am I
That my skies explode with pride
Hiding genocide
Free gaza! I am extremely upset with "my" country.
Good morning USA,
How joyous am I,
To be waking in this country,
Of all the days,
The 4th of July.

As the red winged Robins pass me by,
I stare out at a spot of sunshine,
Across the hall.
Sumer time seems to fall,
With no care for my voice at all.

Soon I know these times will go,
Like our young country,
We grow out of touch.
It becomes hard to reach,
A point of sound sanity.

These late nights are all we've got,
Carnival games, shirt stains,
Twelve dollar fries!
Staring deep into your eyes,
We find silence in their cries.

Clouds of smoke wander around the house,
We keep the grill out of the way,
But peckish little hands happen to stray,
Such delicious food, so many trays!

Happy freedom day.
Happy fourth! To freedom, equality, justice, and bravery, let's celebrate America's birthday!
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