Strawberry seeds – memory

Stuff, Words

Right from the first step outside the grey buildings, when our worn down sneakers landed on the uneven stone stairs, we knew this day called for an adventure. Even if that just meant bikes, strawberries and the blue lake.

The two bikes were parked behind one of the school buildings, and the other two of us climb up on the back. The wind in our hair and the rush from going too fast, makes us laugh and smile freely.

We sit down on the grass, by the sparkling blue, but cold, lake. While throwing the little green tips from the strawberries at each other and in to the water, our smiles grew even brighter.

It was only recently that the sun had started to warm up the ground, and the summer is short, but we all know we will remember this day way after the sun stops shining.

~ J

Advertisements

Like crazy

Art

I miss you a lot, like crazy

I want to ask you, stay

Show you my scars 

The hole in my heart 

But I cannot (ask)

 
You’re a riddle, still

Figuring out yourself 

I’m just a plain page, unworthy of your time 

I need you, but 

 

You’re not mine anymore 

Belonging to other streetlights, on the river 

Under dazzling eyes, red in the night 

Across an open sea, far (away) 

 

⇝K 

relief – poem

Art

naked and cold a lonely night

deep darkness hiding the sin

concealing the poison

head spinning, heart beating, blank mind

this unexpected but awaited escape

one last thought

quickly thinking it through

looking for that ounce of regret

not finding it

and then grabbing the bottle by the neck

bending a fork

liquid relief

naked and cold

relief

 
~J

go!

Words

do you have to go?

i know you have to go.

i have to go.

but do you, really?

you have to go now.

i have to go now.

i have to leave.

do you really have to leave?

you will miss your train.

i will miss my train.

go, now.

leave.

i wish i could stay.

me too.

don’t miss your train.

(please miss your train)

i don’t want to miss my train.

(i really want to miss my train)

go.

stay.

please stay.

i’ll stay.

you can’t stay.

i can’t stay.

i love you.

i love you too.

go!

 
~ J

art portfolio

Art, Words

We write our stories on crinkled coffee shop napkins, with cheap jet black eyeliner. Rough at the edges, smudged lines; fairytales but with tragic endings and without sparkling bliss.

Rays of sun through glass windows compete with our clouded minds and rainy eyes. Sorrows braided into galaxies, puddles made into swimming pools.

We are just spilled paint in an art portfolio, the shards in a broken mirror.
~ J

Lack of substance 

Art, Words

She could not help it. The laughter had taken over her being and now she only existed as the uncontrollable exhales. That was all she was; which was far more than she had ever been. A shell or perhaps a mask. Covering up the lack of substance and personality. 

It wasn’t her fault; at least not entirely. The world could’ve have been a bit more understanding of her chaotic creativity. But the way it always goes she was branded a lunatic. 

At first she’d fight it. Tell people off. Stand up for her beliefs. Eventually she stopped. Her efforts were all for nothing. Realising she would never be seen as anything but, she instead became it. She did not own it; she was consumed. The very essence of her being had abandoned its independence and was now solely an image of what other people saw in her. Their prejudice; most of all their belief that she would never be anything but. 

And so it goes. The different become freaks and individuality withers and dies.

⇝K 
 

New Years’

Art

It’s morning

After drinks

After talking – and not talking

After lingering looks

After dancing – dancing too close

 

It’s evening

Before anxiety

Before regreting – and not regreting

Before confusion

Before wondering – wondering what might be

 

It’s night

During fairy lights

During happening – and not happening

During extacy

During moments – moments when time stands still

 

⇝K

A month of xxx’s

Words

It’s only been a month, and I’m so scared yet so sure.

I’m scared I fell too quickly, scared it is not real – HE is not real.

I’m so scared of the voices telling me to slow down, but even more scared of those telling me not to. 

I’m terrified of these potential feelings, call it love or whatever, and terrified that the feeling of not deserving this won’t go away, ever.

I’m scared the texts are going to stop, scared of the xxx’s becoming a dreaded habit, scared I’ll scare him away or bore him to death.

I’m scared he will stop taking my hand in his whenever we walk somewhere, scared his fingers tracing the stars on my skin will stop being the best feeling in the world.

I’m afraid that he’s the one, and that he’s not.

I’m so scared. But also so sure.
~ J

A very Camden Christmas Eve eve – a short story

Words

“Please mind the gap, between the train and the platform…” echoes over a dozen of heads as I step off the train on the tube station. I climb the 94 steps back to reality, up from the underground. Coats and boots fill the gaps everywhere around me, but Camden Town is not as crowded as usual. Might have something to do with the fact that today is Christmas Eve eve. For once, I thank my irregular work rota and I’m happy that I got today off. Even if that means I have to work Christmas Day…

Under the soles of slightly warmer boots, colourful words paint the ground. I stop and read the chalk poems and search the pockets of my faux-fur for a few coins but with no result. Soon, my own words start to form silent poetry on my lips.

My dr. Martens cross the road, to the way too familiar chain coffee shop.
“Gingerbread Latte, please. Yeah tall. Oh and soy milk, no cream. Thanks.” The barista smiles and gives me my change back. I make a mental note of giving the coins to the street poet.

Back out in the crisp but not too cold London winter, the smell of the coffee in my hand is hidden underneath the Christmas tree sale along the main road. They still sell these today, for totally unorganised people without any sense of structure to their life. I completely forgot, I should probably get one… Later.

Next to the fragrant trees, there are bundles of holly and mistletoe. I pick up one of those mythical green twigs and laugh to myself as I think of potential mistletoe kisses. Not happening. I buy it anyways, in complete irony, of course.
The Lock Market is getting closer, and I wonder if my boots can feel that they belong here. I can feel it, at least. I stop under the sign, stating that “we’re (very) open (minded)”, wanting to take pictures of it just as much now as the first time I was here.

Warm cider, cupcakes, crepes and burritos hits me in an overwhelming mix of scents, and a just as incredible wall of memories tumbles across my mind. Friends, vintage shopping, family visiting, first dates, second dates…
My feet keep on making their way forward and I push my mind to do the same.

Box after box with vinyl records. Elephants in rainbow swirls, followed by pink clouds and grey rain. I start imagining the songs, what the lyrics mean, what the sound would make me feel. One of the covers catches my mind off guard. It still hurts to think that I can recognise them anywhere… Your favourite band, that is. I leave the records behind and continue.

When I reach the bridge across the canal, I think I stepped in to a winter wonderland – is it actually snowing? Turns out, what looked like snow for a second is just tiny raindrops frozen in time and caught in thick fog. Just as my mind becomes heavy, the crucial moment between day and evening, light and dark, approaches. And, as expected, Christmas lights on automatic timers turn on everywhere around me. It looks just like stars, just a little more artificial than real glowing bodies in space.

And just then, I feel as if I can finally see a little bit of Christmas joy. Maybe there are actually miracles everywhere around.
~J