What makes a person, Layla?
Is it two arms and legs,
and eyes to see,
and a voice to speak with,
and blood to spill?
Maybe, he saw me as a person.
He did not see
that all I ever did was vibrating
on that very last frequency
that was left by better days.
He saw me as one,
but I think I‘m not a person anymore.
He saw me as a person,
when he touched those
arms and hands
and lips and breasts
and never realized that there was blood to spill.
Maybe,
I have been breaking myself into 100 unheard frequencies
and through those veins
in arms and legs
and lips and breasts
runs blood burned up
by just another witching dream.
There was another one
that saw the flames
and felt them
running in this blood
and touched those
arms and hands
and lips and breasts
and knew.
„Maybe, I‘m a witch“, I say.
Layla nods. „I wanted a world in which I could have been his witch“, she says, as she attempts to cook a violet cloud.
I wish I’d told you all my stories.
I want to tell you all my storiesIt’s not that they would changeIt’s just that I would likeTo see themFormA new expressionOn your face I need to tell you all my storiesI am not sureIf they makeSenseThe way I thoughtThey do. I will tell you all my storiesThey frighten meI’m sure you won’t endureI see…
Dealing with darkness in writing
This spring afternoon is glowing pink and tastes like strong tea. It feels much too familiar, and I begin to open up.I feel far away from myself as I start to talk, to babble on about my novel. About all the things I’ve been reading about in the past 5 years. About the 17th century,…
Radical witching novel rewrites at 4 AM!
I wore the same night dress my witch used to wear to get drunk on my windowsill, when I suddenly had an idea at 4 AM. Great ideas always happen at 4 AM, remember? This one however, kept me awake for at least a week, debating it back and forth. At some point my witch…
Mistress witch writes 
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