21-10-2020

A picture from your court

I’m teaching myself to get by

Fewer and fewer scraps from your royal table.

When I lay at your feet

In the dust and the dirt of

What no one else was willing to accept

From you

I wonder.

How is it that some people need so much

While others need so little?

And I need so little.

A faded memory of a corner of your smile

Is enough to get me going

For countless lonely nights.

I feed off strangers on the buses

Wearing your scent,

And off those who look like you

From behind.

A reminiscence of your touch on my skin

Is the only pleasure I need.

And your touch,

Your touch,

Your carnal touch

Has the power to erase my desires

For the rest of my life.

Oh, majesty,

Please know

that I understand.

Your feast is only for the visiting guests.

For those unstable and temporary

To whom you need to tend

Because you don’t know

How long they are going to stay.

But I, my king,

I,

Am always there.

20-10-2020

Silence kills

Your silence kills

Like a dagger 

Of a first-time murderer.

Half-heartedly and clumsily,

Leaving the victim bleeding to death for hours 

On their bathroom floor.

Your impassable proximity

Tortures

Like a terminal disease.

Butchering my body viciously 

But without an aim.

The only moral of its appearance,

Pain.

But don’t fret my dear,

It’s not your shoulders

That ought to bear

The weight of my despair.

There is no reason why

You should care

About the side-effect-victim 

of your existence. 

My gradual collapse is simply

A necessary evil, 

A price I need to pay.

For hope,

For love,

And for dreaming about your touch

When you were not there.

11-08-2020

I love…

 I love the way you look at me

Because you don't see me.

Just as I don't see myself.

And I love the way you touch my body

Because it's as if I am only a body.

And it's exactly as I think of myself.

And I love how it's impossible to reach you,

As if there is a wall between us.

Because I've always believed that there is one

Between me and everybody else.

And I love how you hurt me

Because pain

Is the closest to love

That I can get.

15-07-2020

Your kingdom of mine

I have built a kingdom of yours in me,

A long and laborious undertaking.

In that kingdom 

You were sitting silently on a throne 

On the top of tall tall marble stairs.

So tall that I could never see you,

Only sense you.

In that kingdom 

I was kneeling at the bottom of the stairs,

Holding a golden tray.

Blood running down the marble 

From wounds

Open in my chest and belly.

On the tray lied my insides.

My stomach, 

Twisted with doubt.

My vocal cords, 

Broken by the unspeakability

Of what I felt for you.

My lungs, 

Crushed by your presence.

My womb, 

Fertile with desire.

And my heart, 

Open

Broken but still beating.

I had been kneeling at the bottom of the stairs for a long long time,

Listening to the music of your silence.

(I know because I could see the days traveling across the room.)

Sometimes, when my apprehension would become unbearable,

I put down the tray, took a knife

And cut my heart into even smaller pieces,

In hope of finally arriving 

At the size that you could swallow.

Then, one day,

I heard a sudden thunder.

I jumped up 

And ran to rescue you.

(No organs left to feel the terror,

But my brain.)

Your throne fell down!

But when I reached the shattered piece of furniture,

I saw that it was empty.

And then I realized, 

That you were never there.

18-06-2020

A poem with elements of self-deprecation but also clarity

 Thank you for the pictures!

I've received them in good shape.

But what a surprise

To see myself!

I am wearing a grey dress

That I’ve bought a long time ago

To impress somebody else.

But the dress is only one

Of the shades of grey.

My hair - have a steel-coloured tint,

Like those rabbits that I meet

In the parks near my house.

My face - without make-up

Its features twisted in pain

Blend into an indistinguishable

Colourless mass.

My skin - white,

But not with the whiteness

Of alabaster or ivory,

Opulent and refined.

But rather - the colour of ash

That covers the snow

With a thin layer

At the end of winter.

(Or at least it used to

When there was still snow

In my city during winter.)

In my mind’s eye,

I see myself as a flower

From Old Masters’ paintings.

It’s colours subdued yet distinguished.

Drawing attention

In an unpretentious way.

But in reality

(I can see now)

I am more like dust

gathering on the least used side

of the pavement.

Now I understand

Why it is so easy to hurt me,

So easy to put me down.

So easy to push me to the ground

And force me to stay.

Now I see why

It is so easy to make me ugly,

So easy to humiliate me.

So easy to force me

To make a fool out of myself.

You see,

Beautiful girls

Remain beautiful

Even in the most disfiguring positions.

You see,

Ladies

Don’t lose their grace

Even during the most disgraceful chores.

But I am just a grey girl,

Wishing to be a beauty,

Pretending to be a lady.

With that colourful tattoo

Like a joke

Laughing into your face.