Burdens of Flesh and Blood

Your heart, my dear, is a heavy burden;

A heavy burden but you choose to bear it.

The pride is evident when you flaunt your choices.

You take the prerogative to judge,

But don’t judge me my dear, if my heart is light,

So light that it is non- existent.

Your heart, my dear, is a heavy burden;

A burden of flesh and blood: Without respite.

And you’re welcome to bear pride in your own choices.

Just don’t judge those who don’t share your readiness

To suffer.

Carousel of Colors

They've told me: “further away can move you closer.”

 But you’re the farthest you’ve ever been and I don’t feel closer at all.

Maybe it just pertains to this mortal plane,

The place you’ve gone is substantially further— too far.

And why must I spend every day, thinking about it?

Why can’t I just move on like they say I should do?

Because everyone is imaginary,

They’re a spinning carousel and the colors smudge out.

You can grasp a horse’s lip here,

A tail, a rein, some sparkling pearls;

Well the parts are not the whole by far…

None of it makes sense until you stand still.

Bright days in May

Bright days in May

They make my heart break

They raise the veil

From my hidden state

It‘s harder than it seems being the same

Being that girl I was before May

I left your side and walked away

Sometimes it feels like I‘m to blame

Bright days in May

when your time came

I could never decide if I was okay

I know it‘s wrong, I‘m ashamed to say

I wish for things that contradict

And the laws of reason are all too strict

You can‘t want that and then want this

But I can‘t make use of just one trick

Bright days in May

You were taken away

I fought half a battle to get you to stay

But who can I blame?

And now all I do is: I fight myself

I break myself up and I go through hell

I crumble to pieces and I still can‘t tell

If I ever did anything well

Bright days in May

But it‘s too late

A heart takes a beating

then turns to hate

If I sometimes forget the best that you shared

If I often forget to remember you cared

I can trace back each scar to a when and a where

I have perfect recall when it comes to the bad

Bright days in May

And they pass away

Every year the same

A nostalgic replay

The Third Voice is Blind.

You better hope she knows what she‘s doing

Because all she has is venom

And she‘s part of your skin

You better hope it‘s not an act

Because you take her words

And you build on that

But you are not her words

You are more than her illusion

You can try to be your own eulogy

But it won‘t make sense

You‘re also part of her plans

And if she‘s wrong, I hope you‘ll still pick up

I hope you don’t think, that if you lose her

You lose yourself

She’s only the third voice

A notch in your shield is always a choice

You can sweep away all the meaning

And be left with nothing but truth

You shouldn’t just sit there and take it

You shouldn’t let her hurt you

No strings attached

We live in a world of exasperation,
awkwardness, invisibility, dominance,
frustration, anxiety, stress, confusion,
seclusion, desire, disconnect
And last but not least distraction

Where there should be so many threads
each interacting, each connecting,
we have instead a shared string here and there;
Twin weights to fasten it between them,
a private world to which others
are simply not invited.

Yet others have cut their strings,
so that they are impossible to tie down.
But they do not float away like soap bubbles-
they just stay there- lone weights,
with nothing to hold down,
no purpose.

Sometimes someone will attempt
to throw them their own string
but even if they accept another's,
they will never be able to reciprocate
and it is hard to watch kindness not repaid in kind,
no matter from which end you are viewing it.

It hurts no less to be
a receiver incapable of giving
then it does to be a giver
who cannot receive.
And so the purpose of our strings
is lost.

It is my hope that one day
we all realize that you can't help a person
with no strings
by throwing her yours.
You can only try to help them
to braid a new one
and hope to all that is good
that it can be as strong
as the strings we are all born with.

To those of you out there
who for some reason live
involved in seclusion
Please, do not cut all strings.
Attachment can hurt
but it is our purpose,
without it we wither and die.
Once a string is cut it's impossible
to restore it to it's former state.
Tie your strings to as many as you can
and maybe one day
we will all be connected. 

Heart of Hearts

You were my heart of hearts

The blood of my blood

that ran through my veins

my leader and my teacher

my happiness and pain

Several times  I looked to you

To see what I would be

The roots of my tree

The trunk to my branches and leaves

You were the wind

And I‘m just the rustle

A faint echo

Of your hustle and bustle

You were most precious

And my moving power

The force that affected my being

A tower, a beacon of light

For my eyes

The light grew too bright

It blinded my sight

And now I will never see it again

My very beginning has met its own end.