Untitled

Mend my broken fingertips,
to black and blue they're beaten.
Don't fly away on paper planes,
you are yet to be written.

Penniless in a wealth of words,
All alone in crowded rooms,
Nude I stand before you now
stripped of masks and of costumes.

I will water you with tears -
Bloom on, my answered prayer!
Let your skin settle on me,
I adore its every layer.

You are missing

Tonight
you look pretty for no one.
You stretch your fingers to Earth,
but Earth has had its fun.

Now
you hear echoes of voices,
names you thought you knew
soiled with other first name choices.

Mother,
how dare you birth me
in hollow heights of pale shadows?
From you I free.

I hear
nothing of you.
You cry in cobweb corners
you're your self's overdue.

Primal

I live in a dedicious tree, modeling the behaviour of robins and plagiarising their melodies. The hills kidnapped my sun. This is why I hide my face from heaven and befriend my shoes. I am here to feed tears to the earth.

One day I will visit your century.

Ab ovo

And after she had seen their eyes meet for the very first time and both glisten intensely, hers because of the heavy lights she was still sensitive to and his because he felt as if he was holding the redemption for all his wrongdoing prior to this event, after she realized her transparent little hand will fit into his perfectly, she noticed it gently tugging on his sharp beard, mottled by occasional gray. Upon seeing these things, she realized that being 49 and in labor for 12 hours was absolutely worth it. Every damn moment of it.

Foundations

Frantically she rummaged through her claustrophobia-inducing-thirty-square-meter flat, searching for a pen, preferably not one of the discarded, worn out ones which lingered around the living room in repeating patterns but a functioning one instead, which she never seemed to have enough of.

She noticed his hair gets slightly frizzy in the humid weather and decided she liked it anyway. He wrote his phone number on the palm of her little hand, blistered but young, while simultaneously taming it from shivering. She hoped he didn`t notice. He found her knowledge of Hesse impressive. Secretly, she hoped he preferred the smell of old books over new ones.

On her way home, she was squeezing her umbrella handle unaware that she was almost completely smearing the small digits straight off. When she arrived at her doorstep and closed the damned thing, the remains of navy blue ink which seemed to be emphasizing every little imperfection on her lifeline merged with a few drops of water, desaturating its hue. She failed to find a pen bold enough to resurrect his handwriting and do it justice.

The door kindly closed itself after her hasty entrance, like they always did. She always kind of figured the foundations must have been done carelessly faulty.