personal, Poetry



I was so sure it was spelt with an “i”

and the more I look at it,

the more I want it to be.

That apostrophe.

In a much more logical place

I would have told myself,

and logic got me through

when I was too tired to remember

(well, my logic. turns out that wasn’t objective…).

And speaking of logic,

there was more space to fill,

and I ran out of ideas,

I mean, how much is there to be said about one’s own appearance

when one doesn’t understand the task

in the first place?

In the second place,

one needs a great ending.

Is what I hope I was thinking

and not

where the heck are my eyebrows?

Somebody? Anybody?

I’ve never noticed this before.

Should I be worried?


I wasn’t broken

just a little tired.

Oh so tired…

personal, Poetry

childhood (condensed)


tomboy in a tutu

achingly moltened by music

that conjures the swell

and spills you

my heartbeat craving to express

the unspeakable



of cascade four dimensional

electrodes through to terminal

sated by chords of complex clarity

translated without disparity

in a child’s


(The seed for this post was planted by Yassy. Thank you!)