I close my eyes
And imagine a world without name droppers
No Instagram No Tiktok No Twitter
A world without small talks
And lame chats about the weather
A world where silence is not only welcomed 
But preferred
A world without opinions, only thoughts and ideas 
Open minded ones
That don't judge, discriminate, ridicule
That don't start world wars and end marriages 
That don't impose all kinds of gods 
And weird diets 
That don't shoot rockets 
On some OTHER people 
Just because they are OTHERS
I close my eyes 
And imagine a world where humans wonder
How to be better humans 
Living among other humans 
Being, feeling, moving
Like humans do
In their natural habitat: NATURE. 
How to be human beings in nature 
And then I open my eyes 
And see the cages.
We are all prisoners of our own making.
But we can all be free
IF WE ONLY IMAGINE.​

A PRETTY GIRL - wants to be a princess. 
Walks like all the models on the runway
In her tight fitting clothes
That show her cleavage 
And her curves
And how desirable she is. 
A PRETTY girl - smiles when construction workers tell her to
She blushes when they whistle 
She hands out her phone number 
And she blows kisses 
To strangers who gaze. 
A PRETTY GIRL loves to fuck doggy-style
Because she knows all she is is a bitch 
That must be fucked by
Some drooling ugly men 
Who won't even look at her.
A PRETTY GIRL never ages.
She never wrinkles
Or gain weight
She never slouches 
Or poops
She never sweats
Or burps
Or farts.
No - A PRETTY GIRL is PERFECT.
Like a Disney fantasy.
But not a child's Disney fantasy, 
But rather the man himself -
The Walt in all his Disney patriarchal glory. 
A PRETTY GIRL IS a fantasy. 
She's YOUR fantasy. 
You, the man gazing at her, from your throne.
Who would she be if you won't look at her? 
Comes to think of it - She may not even be here at all. 

Once upon a time there was a TIME
That flew by like a bullet train speeding off into the horizon.
It was a TIME that one does not forget, long after TIME has passed.
TIME didn't know how precious it was.
It was oblivious to its own power. It was insecure and fleeting in its existence. 
Like so many of us, TIME walked on this earth feeling invisible. 
And to many - TIME WAS.
Some were keenly aware of its presence. They were the poets, the artists, the monks. 
Others, the over-achievers, were keenly aware of TIME'S impending disappearance. 
They were the anxious, the competitive, the fearful. 
Some were unaware of TIME'S presence, nor its impending disappearance.
They were the lucky ones. The children, the spared, the crazy ones. 
But TIME was the most oblivious at all. Unaware of its own existence. Too wrapped up in its own demise to notice its aliveness. 
When lastly TIME drifted away, into a horizon far in the past and far into the future, 
What remained was the remains of presence. The DEATH of TIME was all that there was. Alas, there was nothing without TIME lurking nearby. There was a long never-ending stretch of nothingness. 
Greet TIME before it leaves you, crazy one. 

​Raindrops
Are teeny tiny reminders
That the clouds also weep
To the heavens at night 
That the ocean 
Also breaks its heart 
Over a love lost at sea
That the moon 
Also howls in agony 
In response to the lone wolf. 
We think human tears are all so powerful
But all they really are 
Are a message from the ocean
To never forget where we come from 
Be it from the heavens 
Or the ground below
We are water in all its emotional freedom
And we swim through life
Ever longing
Ever present
Ever remembering 
Who we once were.
It is said we are not a drop in the ocean
But rather 
An ocean in a drop
I say we are not an ocean
Nor are we a drop
We are water
We are here 
We are there 
And we are everywhere
Ever longing
Ever present
​Remembering who we once were. 

Rainbows are no 'mistakes of nature'
They're no 'tears of heavens' 
Or 'residues of pouring rain'
But rather - 
Rainbows are the brush strokes
Of the artist
When she is born
And roams free
in her new world: 
The world of AIR.
We must remember then,
That every breath we take
Is like our signature
On a canvas.
A canvas that is:
A life.
A life that:
​ART.

Send me an angel
Not the kind that believes in God
And no, not the kind that IS God.
But an angel nonetheless. 
One who can fly 
Even when it got no wings
One who can embrace me
Even though it got no body. 
What IS an angel then?
Or what is THIS kind of an angel, you may ask.
Well, to know one is to be one
So maybe tonight
I am wishing to become one 
Not to die 
Because that is sadly my predictable end
Whether I like it or not
But an angel when I'm living
Let me fly without wings
Embrace without body
And touch souls 
​Whenever wherever possible. 

Solitude.
A friend at times of need. 
A shoulder to cry on. 
A mirror to face when all is doomed. 

If I don't have you -
I have nothing.
If I don't find you 
I drown in a sea of people.
If I don't love you
I die hating you.

Promise me
You'll always be there 
When I need 
A good ole' glorious 
​Solitude. 

I -
Woman
At last 
No hesitation
No question
Of who I
am 
No more asking for permission
That's a girl's game
I -
Woman
At last 
Done asking others to give me a seat 
I don't need to sit 
Because I -
Woman
Have wings
I -
Woman
Have learned how to fly.

One day
When climate change has ceased its roundabout
And the great reef is eighty six'd
And humans will no longer give birth 
Something else will die:
ART. 

In a world where there is no life - 
There is no art. 
And that is the true sorrow of death.
The death to art. 
​***