Tag: Catherine Micqu

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about me

Greetings and salutations,

Hello, and thank you for being here.

My name is Catherine, but you can call me Cathy. I am a poet, a storyteller, and a collector of fleeting moments. I write because I do not know how not to. Words tend to spill out, sometimes uninvited, always looking for a place to land. This blog is where I give them one.

I was born in 1983 in Luxembourg. I live in the space between work and wonder, motherhood and music. When I am not writing, I work in early childhood education, helping small humans explore the world through play. I grow and learn with them, and together we find answers to questions that often matter more than they seem to at first glance. I adore my job.

I am fluent in Luxembourgish, French, and German, but English is the language where my inner world finds its voice most naturally. I write in echoes, in accents, in fragments of what I cannot always say aloud. My poetry is not soft. It is raw, honest, and often tangled with longing. It speaks of silence and survival, of love and loss, of all the things we hold on to and all the ones that slip through our fingers.

I did not grow up writing poems. That part of me came later, although I had written a few before I recognised them for what they were. It felt like finding breath underwater. Since starting this blog in 2012, I have been slowly carving out a space for my voice and letting it grow into its own shape.

Much of what I write is fiction, especially the poetry. But the feelings behind it are real. My writing is shaped by music, by film, by memory and by the need to make sense of the things I do not always know how to say. I write because something inside me needs to be set free. And if you are here, maybe something in you does too.


Where to Find Me

This blog is where most of my words live. But if you want slightly more:

SoundCloud – Spoken poetry and collaborations.

Bandcamp / Discogs – For those curious about the music that shapes me.


My Instagram is private. I post there, but not often.

Some of my words have found their way into books. If you want to hold them in your hands, you can find them here.

Collaborations & Contact

I have worked with musicians and photographers, blending words with sound and image. If you think my writing could be part of something you are creating, feel free to reach out: cathy@boom.lu.

Disclaimer

The words on this blog are mine. If they are not, I will say so.

My stories are fiction, even when they feel true. My poetry is truth, even when it is not mine alone. Any resemblance to people or places is entirely coincidental. No post is aimed at anyone unless clearly stated. The music mentioned or linked here is not mine.

Please do not copy, repost, or republish any content without written permission.

© 2012–2025 micqu.org. All content is original and protected.

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Un-asleep

2:45 am. I can’t sleep. I woke up from a dream – not a nightmare, but unsettling too. I keep trying to recall my dream, but it is gone – lost in the corners of my mind. I just know that I was wrong about something. I did the worst one can do when unable to sleep; I took my phone and checked notifications. I was on Twitter and on a whim, I unfollowed a couple of accounts, the one of my former favourite band too – turns out they are a bunch of pretentious bellends. It took me almost 20 years to see it. I still appreciate their music; it was the soundtrack of my life, and yet… I really don’t like the people they became. Or is it me?

Am I drifting away from the person I used to be? I feel empty and overflowing. Sad and happy. Tired and wide awake.

How did that happen? When did everything change?

In a little more than 2 hours my alarm will go off, and I need to go to work. Early shift. I like that – if only it started later, lol.

Birds are beginning to chirp outside (the window is open); my husband is snoring next to me, and my mind is thinking too loud.

…

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News

I am working on my next book. It will be called “Unquiet Minds” and it will be filled with poetry that was written over the last 6 years.

I am formatting it at present and I learned from my last experience. First paperback, then ebook, because Paperback is a lot more exciting but also a pain in my posterior.

It will be around 130 pages long (which makes Unquiet Minds trice as long as Writing Notes). Furthermore, I intend to make it more or less the same price.

Truthfully, I am not as excited as the first time. But that might come with me the overall subdued mood.

I unsubscribed and uninstalled Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. Wattpad will be next, I think. Though, I admit, I am thinking about reactivating Twitter. I feel quite disconnected. Which I am…

In a couple of days, it Jamie’s anniversary. He passed away 3 years ago. For those who are unfamiliar with the story, Jamie was my best friend, he passed away from leukemia. Some days, I don’t miss him at all. I don’t even think about him, but whenever I feel down, he is missed. A lot. I just know that he would have had the right advice for me and the right words.

My other best friend ended our 20 years friendship this week. It came out of the blue, and not. It’s been coming. I had it coming because I was a bad friend. I was selfish and pushed her away. Apparently, I hurt her…. I am not sure how or why but well. If she was hurt, I can’t say she wasn’t.

I had a fight with a work colleague last Friday. This time, I was not wrong. But explaining would be too much.

Anyway…

I decided to publish my new book under my real name. No aliases anymore. I will let you know in due time about more details.

In the mean time, follow the 15 people who already bought Writing Notes on Amazon.

Thank you.

C

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More thoughts about (self-publishing)

I have all these thoughts in my head that want out right away…

Self-Publishing on paperback is such a pain in my (extremely sexy) posterior. (Sex sells, right!?) I can remember now why I didn’t bother with my first attempts… But the prospect of holding a real book made of real paper in my hands, with my words inside and outside, with my handwriting on the cover… It makes up for the hassle. It really does. In about 72 hours my book will be available for your Kindle and next week it will be on Amazon to buy as a paperback.

Exciting times. Even more so when I think back to last week. Last week, I didn’t even think about publishing.

Once again, go buy or download this amazing book called “Writing Notes”. https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/844360

One of the first reactions: “I love this. It touches the heart”

Cathy

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Selfie

Hello, it’s me. I am feeling the summer. Took a selfie with a little blurring effect… I wish you all a great weekend.

(Just dry skin on my lip… Nothing else. No scar, no injury, nothing else… Just dry lips. 😉 )

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It’s going to be okay

Life’s a bitch, but it’s going to be okay.

My daughter had a nightmare about me dying. I tried to comfort her as best as I could, but there was a thought I couldn’t shake. I will die. Some day I will. And I cannot change it. And when she was finally asleep again, i felt guilty. So many times i thought about dying. I thought about ending my life. No – I will not kill myself, no need to worry. But I have these thoughts and I am aware that those are thoughts normal people don’t have. I cannot save my children from all the hurt that the world will inflict on them. It’s impossible. But I can try and not add to it. It pains me when my seven year old is bullied. It hurts that she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. It pains me when she tells me that she will come to me with everything that bothers her but that I can also come to her with the things that bother me.
Parenting is the best thing I do. It’s one of the few things I am sure of. But there is so much wrong with me that I worry that I will never be the parent they need or deserve. The world is crazy. And I am too.
And I am scared to share. I used to share a lot. But back then, people from my day to day life didn’t read anything I shared. And now I allowed some people in. And I feel ashamed and frightened to share who I really am. I hate this. And I want to scream “help”, but I can’t, and to be fair, I wouldn’t listen to anyone anyway. I need a hug from someone who isn’t a child. Who knew that being married also meant being lonely and longing for human connection.

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Covered with love

Wrap your self around my soul

Consume me until

I will disintegrate in your smoldering embrace.

Standing still,

I feel your essence seeping in to my very core

Until I wrap my soul around your fragile mind.

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memory lane

As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain I will never forget you.

I wrote about this one before but I can’t find it anywhere so I will write it down again. This was said to me. Not written, but said. And I thought it was weirdly romantic. He laughed then, saying that it is our kind of romanticism, and he was right. In the meantime, this man is not a part of my life anymore. We knew the day would come but we tried to ignore it until it was there and he left. Which is okay and his proper right to do. But that sentence there, it keeps repeating in my mind. Over and over again. If it is true, then he will not forget me for a long time. I don’t want to be forgotten. Least of all by him. He who meant so much to me at one moment in time and who still does, who will always do.

When I shared this sentence with a friend, she was disgusted and thought it was very disrespectful. And I wondered if I had rose-tinted glasses on to be happy about these words. Now, a long time later, and these words still get to me and they are still disgusting to other people. For me, they are the ultimate declaration of love.

Funny how people see one and the same thing and feel so differently about it. Or maybe I am just weird. By the way, that same man said to me that he felt abject loneliness without me and that I was the only one who could fill the holes in his heart, in his mind and in his soul. Indeed, he is a writer… but come on… Those are amazing words to hear… Alas, love or an infatuation is not always enough. And I am not a romantic person anyway…

(written in August 2016 and still true)

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Happy Belated Anniversary

I actually missed my blogging anniversary. It’s been 5 years since I write whatever comes to my mind on this site.

In the beginning, I was shy about sharing my poetry and most of my older posts aren’t tagged at all. In the old days, this blog was mostly about music that I liked and I shared YouTube links. But then came the day that I realised that liking music didn’t make me a critic – and I never wanted to be a critic either. So? Why holding on to a concept I didn’t like anymore? I took off almost every music. I also took off most of my personal posts and began sharing my writing.

I am proud of my words. Of my writing voice. Sure, I cannot write a post without a mistake. I cannot write a poem without a mistake. But maybe that’s my signature? Lol…

I am not sure what the future will bring. But I learned that writing is more than just spending some time doing something. Writing helps me to filter my thoughts and put them in order again.

To everyone out there spending time here on this blog, thank you. I appreciate it a lot and I hope you never feel like you just wasted time when you leave my place.

Happy Holidays.

xx

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Training

I work in a job where we are sent to trainings twice a year. Today I spent an entire day in training. We were a group of sixteen strangers. The training was about self-conception, our effect on the parents, and the use of verbal and nonverbal communication.

One exercise this morning was very uplifting. A stranger sat across from us. Facing one another, the stranger had one minute to compliment me. This was done twice. So… I had two minutes of compliments today and also gave two minutes of compliments.

Here are some things these strangers said to me which left an impact (or got me thinking). One man and one woman made these statements.

  • There is something mysterious about you
  • Very open and welcoming
  • Warm
  • Gentle
  • Humourous
  • Bright smile
  • Beautiful eyes
  • Curvy (yes… That too was meant to be a compliment)
  • I feel safe and accepted just sitting face to face with you
  • Very high tolerance for everyone, regardless of gender or anything else
  • Dynamic
  • Available to your friends
  • We could talk for hours on end if we met for a drink
  • Outgoing
  • Intelligent
  • Interested
  • Calm
  • At ease with yourself
  • There for your friends
  • You seem to be a person with a positive attitude who can find a solution to every problem
  • Would love to work with you
  • Beautiful when you smile

These are the ones I remember. The ‘you’ is me, of course. These things were said to me by people who I had never met before. It’s incredible how uplifting this exercise was. And, I recognise myself in the things they said, too.

I do want to add though: what is mysterious about me? Can anyone explain this to me? I’ve been told this more than once and I don’t know what to make of it.

Also, try to pay compliments to a stranger for an entire minute. It’s long…

Anyway, this made my day and I wanted to share.

xx

Cathy

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Challenge accepted…

Before:

After:

Getting rid of the long hair was a big deal for me. 40cm (16inch) were cut. I always looked young. I look even younger now. Quite weird actually. This change of hairstyle happened spontaneously (on a whim) and after many years of being proud of my long hair.

While my kids aren’t fans of the short do (my daughter cried!!), I honestly love it and most people seem to like it too. (Or they are just being polite.)

I can’t really put into words how this feels. But I am happy 🙂

xoxo

Cathy

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My favourite pic of myself in my teenage years. This pic was taken when I was 19 and on vacation in Brittany. 🙂

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waiting…

Thursday night. 7:56pm. I am waiting. The sun is setting. It’s getting colder. But I keep waiting. Every once in a while, I take my phone out of my pocket to check for missed calls or messages. People are looking at me. I keep waiting. It’s only our second date. A concert date. A band that I like a lot but I had no one to come with me tonight. I asked him. Enzo. He said he would love to come. Enzo is Italian. Looks like one too. Dark long wavy hair, brown eyes with a sparkle. Really pretty eyes. His voice is a bit nasal, and he seems nervous all the time, buzzing with a restless inner energy. I have a cousin named Enzo too. Italian heritage and all that. But I am still waiting. The music started inside, and the crowd waiting outside where I am is thinning. The bass is droning. Where is he? I hope nothing happened. Another look at the phone. There’s a message.

Sorry. This is not going to work. Enjoy the show. Sorry. Delete my number. We shouldn’t get in touch. Got back together with my ex.

I read it again. But I don’t understand what I read. I had no idea that he considered going back to his ex. Then again, it was not a subject we had breached. I am torn. Should I go in, buy a couple of beers and listen to the music? Or should I go home? Yes, I was excited for our date tonight, but was I that attached that I will drown in self-pity? I consider my option. I look down the street. It’s nearly empty. Illuminated by the orange city lights. I look back at the club’s entrance. Two men who wouldn’t fit into my closet are guarding the doors. They are laughing. It makes them appear even more intimidating. 8:25. Shit. I have never been to a concert on my own. But I really want to see this band. I take a deep breath. It’s funny how sighing or taking deep breaths relaxes me. Out of my huge tote bag, I get my ticket. I paid for it. I’m going in. One of the burly guys scans my ticket while the other ask to see my bag. I should have thought about that earlier. Could have saved me the embarrassing moment of showing how many used tissues I carry around. Love will tear us apart says the man who scanned my ticket. I don’t understand. He must be good at reading people because he jerks his chin into the direction of my bag that is inspected. Indeed. The words he said are written on my bag. I just smile and nod. I hold out my hand for the obligatory stamp. It’s a teddy bear. Childish. Who chooses these things?

I walk inside. The music is loud. Too many people. And I am alone. I try my best to fit in. But I might look lost. At the bar, I see an opening. Maybe I am lucky and can order a drink without feeling out of place? To my surprise, it does work. The usual shouting and international signs for beer are used, but I get what I want. I turn around to make my way closer to the stage. A man stumbles into my path and something cold is poured down my front. Jeez. Jerk. I shout, looking at the mess he made and the merged beer and whatever liquid he drank that are now on my shirt. I am not sure if he heard me above the music. Our eyes meet. I know those eyes. They are green. Very pale. I take a step back. Small, cautious step. It’s him. Fucking hell! Him; the band’s guitarist and singer. And I just called him a jerk. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks. He looks at me. Watches me with his head tilted to the side. There is something like disappointment on his face now that I recognised him. Should I apologise? I didn’t do anything wrong. But he’s famous. Everyone around us is here to see him. And he poured his drink down my shirt. It’s a weird moment. I only see him. I know that there are people around us. Many people. But they are out of focus. Blurry side notes. Come, he orders and gently wraps his hand around my wrist. Too stunned, I just follow him. He pulls me toward the merchandise stand and asks for a T-shirt. All the time he has his hand on my wrist. He must feel my pulse against the calloused skin of his fingers and hand. I can feel it. Mine. My heart beat. It’s very fast. Almost uncomfortable. He turns to me and smiles. Again he orders me to follow him. And I do. It’s actually not careful to trust him. A stranger. But somehow, I do. Maybe I fell for the illusion that I know him because of his familiar face? Apart from my two greeting words I haven’t said a word. My mind is racing. My heart is too. He pushes doors open and shows his access all areas badge. In one hand he holds a shirt. In the other he holds me. What’s happening here? The music is not as loud anymore after we walked through another door. There are tables with food and more strangely familiar faces. People are laughing and teasing each other. Others are checking instruments. Batteries are put into guitars, strings are tuned. He shows me a door and gives me the piece of cloth he had been clutching in his hand. The one that hadn’t been on me. The moment he releases my wrist, goose flesh spreads where his touch has been. My skin is already missing his touch. Silly thought. I should dismiss it. And I really don’t want to wear a band T-shirt. But I am soaked. And so I give in.