„ I wish I‘d loved you in better days.“
But would it have been love?
With the sun tickling skin unharmed yet?
With a glass of wine drowning words forgotten tomorrow?
With kisses unimportant, because they never were the last ones?
„Then, I wish I‘d loved in easier days.“
But would two souls have found each other, with no darkness pouring out?
Without a void to be filled with something not found yet?
Without skin to be healed with a gentle touch?
„I just wish I could have loved you“, my witch yells at the cauldron, now filled with train tickets, chocolate wrapping papers, and burned down candles and matches.
These are difficult days indeed.
Why I am not a nice girl
I am not your nice, Christian girl next door, as you might have noticed. And this is not a role I play for this blogging project, or to promote my writing and music. This is me, and I stick to it, even when it gets complicated, and believe me: It becomes an issue more often…
Intimate tale
I yearn for those moments,When I existedsolelyin your eyes.When I wasnothingBut an image causingCuriosity.I lived in those momentsWhen you knewNothingAbout the scarsBetween myThighs.Moments that werePure and softAnd kept mySecretWithout anyFalsity.In those momentsI felt loveFor all the thingsYou mustn’tKnow.All the thingsWent looseWithin myHeadAnd found their wayOnto myTongue.I still amThese momentsWhen I hadYouAnd you deniedThe thingsI wanted…
The tale of mental health in a burning world
“Wanna feel better?”, my witch asks me as she presents tonight’s options. Do we want to get drunk and risk a headache? Do we want to try out yoga again although we’ve never managed to take it seriously? Do we want to escape the last traces of reality by watching a sitcom and ignoring the…
Mistress witch writes 
Dear poet. The below lines will haunt us.
“But would it have been love?
With the sun tickling skin unharmed yet?
With a glass of wine drowning words forgotten tomorrow?
With kisses unimportant, because they never were the last ones?”
Took me a lot of falling down. I learn. Old love, need to be lessons. New love need to be new lullabies for us to create. We must be brave.
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Thank you for reading me, and thank you for your words! We must be brave, indeed.
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You are welcome, dear Mistress Witch.
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