Women

There’s nothing on this body
I would not caress
bringing concepts to crossroads
women tumbling over each other
debunking the negative
rethinking the hate
belle stretching out and defining
the fat flavour of something
is it merry when it’s soft
or does it quiver falsely
uneven distributed opinions
fall left and right beside me


© Monique (starfish_72)

Advertenties

Closing distance

We start late at night
blinded by discomfort
we pick up the pieces
pens scratch ’n screens dent
‘cause we’ve never known
enough ways to clear our minds
darling, you keep adapting
my mishaps into therapy notes
I will die alone on top
of processed lifetimes
and internal wrongdoings
burning candles in an even crowd
pieces that once interlocked
seem recklessly broken
under these lights
we’re still handtied
I’m mad as hell at the mayhem
hold love on your tongue
until we stop giving words
to fire climbing up our lungs
until we fully form
cancel all escape plans
we breathe each other in
with a weird fondness
ripe and cooling passing smiles
look at me – I’m trying
I’m fighting to find confidencE
in closing distance


© Monique (starfish_72)

Comfort of an old friend

Remember when we believed
life happened on the playground
before our conceptual minds
told us to tone it down
we drew with broken crayons
got into trouble before dinner
now our silver hair is winning
do’s and dont’s are mixing

I use my wishes to see you around
there are towns we need to paint
I know there’s much to touch on
our eyes tinted by sorrows
our souls both carry pain
even so know we know our way
around board games and storybooks

Remember when you cried
when I didn’t come out of hiding
as if I let you lose a friend
pinky promises in the attic
it’s written in our journals
no one gets left behind
team you and I in echoes
the never-forever divided

Four faded paper handprints
are stuck on the kitchen door
our story still has commas
our dreams became adults
every bit of us still fits
how could we stop caring
hold the door when I forget
what I’m missing out on


© Monique (starfish_72)

The coat

It looks like witchery
the way you stitch my coat
patching a myriad of memories
in your needles’ flight
twirling between 3 fingers
without getting confused
a thin dent on your leather thimble

You’re a solitary star and all else
would be fury against freedom

When you birthed out of conformity
I saw truthfulness unassembled
and it meant something
to my eyes – a transformation

That smile – I’ve mostly seen sour lips
when explaining myself
your needle pokes me playfully
I revolve around who I think I am
before suddenly waking up
in darkness’ fading traces

Stitch it snug at the arms
I want to hold my warmth
I want to make people feel
forget the cold wind inside
my body curls against lapped seams

I find potpourri sewn into each pocket
you invite me to give it my own scent
before your eyes, your hands, I unravel
it is never about starting over you say
never, I hear, never


© Monique (starfish_72)

Improvising

I am here
my current conditions
no strategies to live
a quiet art of gasping
pretending not to be afraid
at the waiting – the unknown
my dented ego and most
of my concepts return to air
to a soft willing surrender
less tyrannized by appearances
having to be that one certain way
I am befriending it slowly
but it can feel strange

The given unshaped mystical
that I look for it in metaphors
spices me and makes me tremble
the thought of rules evaporating
makes me wheeze and how
will I get there with tight lungs
my arm locks in yours to feel stronger
when we reach the doors
can we discuss which paths lead to hope
split seconds of freedom
uncover the ample unprompted
(in)security in being how it is

I’ve shared my life’s belonging
with like-minded people
we threw everything together
and picked up what presented itself
we meet and drift and meet
many souls feel just as alone in this
few know the way and others pretend to


© Monique (starfish_72)

Thirteen

[ Note: My earliest suicide attempt was at the age of 13. I wanted to relive my then depressed mindset before the attempt in this poem. I am now in my 40’s and live the best life I am able to live. I am grateful to still be here. If you are experiencing depression, please look for professional help. It can get a lot better. ]

Warning: poem may trigger painful emotions


I don’t know how to feel today
there is no sound in my steps
I wish I could black out
beneath the rumors spread
they haunt me at the school
I’m shedding flakes of fear
hoping days pass faster
toilet breaks take longer
there’s hunger on the streets
for a conversation piece
face down not to be read
stumble and sway further
I am silence to the useless
I am made of regrets
at night when lights have dropped
I wish I could relax
my muscles are so painful
my bedspread catches sweat
I cannot leave the school
my mind is a machine
too young to be wounded
in this dark sloped silhouette
to see smiles and be seen
be welcomed as a gift
this – or be listed dead
which need will be met ?
the pressure lifted off
not sure if I’d be missed


© Monique (starfish_72)

Pilgrimage

I’m in the middle of it
clothes pegs on pictures faded
owls echoing self-reflection
check the twine string’s tension
folds curl on my face
my silver hair above me
my baby toes beneath me
everything nature gave me
I went in and came out differently
all is given until it gets taken
the transition of creation
it comes back to me
when loud forces appear
I start to see clearly
like the black cat I stretch
and I chase –  madness escapes
there are no breaks in place
my lips can’t tell the cells
to renew themselves but see
I may use all my strength for it
again the dimmed past
facing another phase alone
a different version to be
dusk falls on the observant
laced up seasons of living


© Monique (starfish_72)