I glared at God, squinted at the sun, and kicked the earth beneath my feet. I wished the angels would come shooting down like stars. I wished Eden would fall into pieces; only then he’d know what it feels like to live among ruins…

But I do know about our mutual dream
of holding hands
to face a cruel world that won’t feel too cruel

Stick to me like a smoky breath after I have had my fifth cigarette  Even if I brush my newly stained teeth  or chew mint flavoured bubblegum It is sometimes…

In the 19th century, when society believed that single women couldn’t be successful, the talent of every single one of these young ladies created an unbreakable bond of hope in times of despair that would then determine their life path.

The paper lies empty on my bed at night
And my pen won’t bleed anymore

What if you fell in love with him? You fell in love with him in this whole new world, in this restricted, awfully tight skin. You fell. He didn’t.

My blood is boiling,
My mind is running on a treadmill powered by broken thoughts,
shards here and there
all over the pillows and the sheets.

He is everything I cannot be. Blessed be he
Who dips his fingers into pots of rain water
And turns them into peach wine.

Bent necks gazing into bent faiths
Backs leaning over ashtrays counting ash days
Knees kneeling to the glory of a soul keeper, no deeper than a black plate, platonic connections with plastic parts of no real power,

When the wind arose in the afternoon sun,
We put our little shoes on and sprinted down the stairs
Tripping around corners as we missed steps
But as long as we didn’t bleed, we didn’t care.