I’m unsteady.
After autumn comes spring.
I’m unsteady.
Mocked for being a graceless wretch.
I’m unsteady.
Not your friendly, agreeable type.
I might bump into you
without an apology
cause I really don’t notice it.

I’m unsteady.
Resigning to fate.
I’m tumbling.
You laugh at me.
I play footloose with gravity.
My hands quick & the branch’s sturdy.
Unconsciously I save myself.
You’re amazed at my agility.
I think it’s a pity
I’m not head over heel.

I’m unsteady.
No script, all actors.
Too cool to be real.
Just a healthy dose of no fucks given.
I may hail you as a villain,
so we are even, so we can be
unsteady, interestingly,
defiantly, definably.
To pave the ground
for those to walk on
who can be unsteady.

What I hope I’d learned.

What I hope I had learned:
nobody knows what they are doing.
They try to stop you from going anywhere
because they themselves are scared.

Earn your independence at all cost,
it’s the foundation of all else to come.
People will tell you that this is wrong
then do their darnedest to weight you down.

Next comes the journey to be free,
don’t think it’s as easy as it sounds.
Pay attention to how you spend your time.
Staying too comfortable you got it wrong.

Follow your passion is as cliché as they come.
Listen to the heartbeat whatever you’ve been running from.
It does not matter if it’s impossible or nobody will remember.
Sweet is the life that’s obstinately on fire.

Just a crack.

The sludge is heavy in here. Everything’s still, so still, exactly how I left it the previous day. Do I wish something to change out of the blue? My little predictable domain? Always expecting surprises and keeping getting disappointed. But I have to write it down. It has been too long and something wants to get out. I want something else to change so it’s easier to deal. Getting distracted. My eyes roam but they miss everything. From my vantage point I can’t make out a damned thing that I can use. I hear nothing but dead static noises made by something that’s suffocating me that’s also making me comfortably warm. I feel like a ghost inside a box that’s already buried. A confine? A coffin?

I slide open the door a crack. Just a crack, because it’s supposed to be frigid cold outside. But what’s this? What IS this? I nudge my nose inside the crack like a dog lapping at the rushing cool fresh air and I get the sensations: like the first dab of a painter’s brush, like the weak yet triumphant cries of a baby bird; like the glassy eyes of a lazing cat in the afternoon sun. It smells, upon closer reliance on my eyes, of wet, supple, black, juicy earth, of the blushing-green brave new grasses upon it, of the tree that’s full of majestic life opening, connecting to the whole of the sky, and to me. I implore, beg my nostrils to open wider, get a life, fly high while still hiding my under-appreciating bulk inside safety and warmth. Just poking my nose out between the crack like a fucking junkie inhaling the life back into the body.

Then I closed the door and started working on getting rid of something I can’t possibly live without.


It’s OK baby
I like the way you are.
You don’t have to do anything
have a rest in my arms.

The world can be a cold place,
more the treasure, our little spark.
It may not last forever but
just a moment is quite long enough.

It’s alright love
you don’t have to say it.
I’m not here for your confession
nor am I your judge.

Life can be a gamble
& nobody knows the rules.
This view may not be perfect
but come on man, it is all for us.

Inside out.

Her world’s different than the world she saw.
In her head dirt can talk & trees are lords.

You will think her mad if she speaks out loud.
You may fancy her a fairy but you know her not.

One day she lost her innocence to dream,
trapped in the prison of the strangest gleams.

She doesn’t know why and what she has to lose,
slowly she retreats to a place that’s..

Suspended in nowhere a glass bubble hangs,
inside its safety a scared creature hides
who can no longer grow old or wise.

Finally she realizes what she has to lose
& starts to take down what’s no longer of use.

One by one she let strangers in to share a little dream,
re-creating a world only this time the outside is in.

You are precious to me.

Do you know…
your freshly dried hair
make the sound of
thousands of tiny silver bells
when they are tousled?
You are precious to me.

Do you see…
when you take a bath
under candle-light,
there spread diamonds
on your golden skin?
You are precious to me.

Do you hear…
your thoughts
as they
hit the right timbre
echoing in my dusty & grim chamber?
You are precious to me.

Do you taste…
the fertile sea,
whiffs of
salts & organic matter
amalgamating a single entity?
You are precious to me.

Do you feel…
the unspoken innuendo
getting cold
while new colors
rushing forward in glee?
You are precious to me.

Do you pray…
less because you are
afraid or helpless
but for those if without
you would never see as clearly?
You are precious to me.

Do you sing…
that wordless, formless song
got passed down down
and still it’s the way it is
& you understand?
You are precious to me.

Do you fly…
to a place that
You are precious to me.

Do you write…
like a slaver
building cages for meanings
with words that
can never quite cut it?
You are precious to me.

Do you gaze…
into the deep, find comfort there,
lose yourself, bring it back,
(back & forth) x 2
ever since you became afraid of that one thing?
You are precious to me.

I like the hair.
I like the diamonds & gold.
I like the sound, the salt, the song, the thoughts.
I am precious to me.