before dawn

In the green green grass, she sat
Looking into the far far distance

Somewhere on the other side of the world
A lover was waiting for her
Somewhere high up up in the blue blue sky
A twin flame knew her name

Warm warm summer rain was helping her
To grow into her own self

Somewhere; only she understood in which dream
A lover was waiting for her
Somewhere, buried under the birch's roots
A twin flame knew her name

In the dark dark night, she lay
Gazing at the gleaming stars wishing
that

Somewhere on the other side of the world
A lover was waiting for her
Somewhere high up up in the blue blue sky
A twin flame knew her name.


Paradise

There is a paradise in your eyes
And the best part is:
You invited me in.
And now I am drowning
In your words
And floating on your skin.

There is a recognition in your eyes
And your love will be my demise
But I refuse to overanalyse.
I put my trust in your fearless soul
And follow you down every dark hole
We are stardust; together, we are whole.

There is home in your eyes
And the best part is:
I can see myself within.
And now I feel safe
In your arms
And with my head under your chin.

(One from my drafts – I am not sure if I shared it before or not)

Love love love

I love every version of you. The one pushing me away. The one begging me to stay. I love every inch of you. Your hair, your eyes, your belly. I love every thought in your mind. The sadness, the lightness, the eccentricities. I love everything about you. And some days, I believe you love the same things about me too. 

It haunts me

The question that still and always haunts me is: who cares?

Who cares?

That’s what a narcissist once asked me after telling me that they don’t know me. I told them about me (unasked) and they replied:

Who cares?

It doesn’t matter!

It was years ago. Many many years ago, but it broke or activated something inside me.

And with every post, every tweet, every message that is not a reaction to a message, those two questions scream in my mind.

And man, it is a crippling thought. It prevents half of what I write to be seen or shared and it makes me delete many messages or tweets i want to write.

When those messages were sent to me, I was a different person and sometimes I wonder why they still matter years later.

They still matter because I gave and still give them the power to matter, but as much as I am trying, i cannot stop it.

Every time I push the button “publish” I wonder who cares, and in times when I over-post, the question is so much louder.

###

Depeche Mode – in your room. The clip was shot by the dutch photographer Anton Corbijn, who is one of my favourites (photographers) ever. And the song was a single from the album “songs of faith and devotion” (1993) it’s the first album I ever bought with my own money and I still adore it. I had the choice between “division bell” by Pink Floyd and the above. I decided with my heart and never regretted it. Also, the “division bell” is an awesome album that I bought years later on CD and someone also bought it for me on LP… It made its way from a record store in Wales to my doorstep in Luxembourg in 2021. 🙂

Can we be free?

Can we be free tomorrow
Of poverty and poetry?
Can we be free?
Of crime and time?

This is how we do
And this is how we live
No questions asked
Blind, our eyes are shut
This is how we live
Ignorant and in bliss

Can we be free tomorrow
Of poetry and crime
Can we be free?
And start a new lifetime?

This is how we do
And this is how love
No questions asked
Ks is how we love
Giving from to every dove

Can we be free tomorrow?
We will never be
Can we be free?
Only if our minds allow us to be.

Past hurt

Childhood trauma is a bitch… In my case, it left me with trust and abandonment issues.

In my life are three people who I trust blindly and with everything, but it was and is hard work. Before I open up and speak freely with them, I always, always worry and question myself and them. I question their honesty and I question whether what I want to say needs to be said and is important enough to be voiced.

My childhood trauma comes from neglect, emotional abuse, and, in fact, abandonment. I couldn’t trust the adults in my life to take care of me – I had to take care of them.

It is only part of my trauma and issues, but if you ask my opinion – which is in no way a professional one (at least not when I speak about myself), well, in my opinion childhood trauma cannot be healed. No matter how much you try working through it, it is ingrained deeply.

For me, trusting someone is very very hard work and daily work too.

###

I’m doing a bit of a blog push in May… Lots of posts with lots of different content. Love ya 💜

I need

a device that records my thoughts when I do mindless things like ironing or taking a shower. I wrote entire stories like that in my head and when I try to write them down later, they are gone. Poof… Vanished…

One could argue that the ideas were not that good and that’s why I forgot about them. But I refuse to believe that, hehe

And while I was thinking about that device recording my thoughts, I noticed that it is better when my mind is left alone. It could be overwhelming for people to listen to me jumping from left to right without seemingly making much sense.

Also… I don’t know who has seen Black Mirror, but it would be too much of a storyline for that show.

In conclusion, I don’t need a device to record my thoughts straight from my brain.

###

This post was brought to you by an overthinking ironer. I don’t do it often, but indeed, I ironed a handful of shirts this afternoon.

There you are

How can I forget the first time you saw me?
The light smile tugging at your lips and the pleasant surprise on your face
I was not uninvited but you did not expect me either
Standing in a crowded room with people all around you swooning over you, our eyes locked
Recognition, there was recognition and awe
You jumped off the stage and I felt it in the pit of my stomach
Butterflies doing somersaults
But you were swallowed by a swarm of fans and the magical spell was broken
I blinked and was shaken out of my stupor
I ran
How can I forget the first time I saw you?