Imperfect Poet

Poetry, short stories and other things.


December 2017

love yourself


while he was fetching you the stars

I taught myself not to cry when I was alone

when he was learning to love you

I was learning how to love myself

when he was writing you love songs

I was writing songs to my body

songs of how beautifully I was created

of how I was made for great things

I wrote of how my eyes were more beautiful

then the night sky

and that his words

could never define me

his silence would never lessen my worth.

darling, he may write poetry on your body

I will be writing poetry to my body

to my mind

and when he chooses another girl

to write to

where will you find your worth?


Future tense

Sometimes you have to let go

of all that you think you know

and embrace the future

no matter how

uncertain it might be

or how scared you feel.

A girl I used to be.

I have started making my instant coffee

by pouring the milk first

before the water follows.


Someone told me that pouring boiling water

onto the instant coffee directly

will cause the powder to burn

and thus the drink will leave

a bitter taste on my tongue.


At first, I did not believe them-

I still do not,

and yet, of late,

when I pick up the kettle to pour

boiling water in my cup,

I hesitate

and rather pour the milk first

before the water follows.


I know that the coffee will taste the same

and I know that it is a mind game

but still,

I am no longer a “water first” lady.

I this change seems fitting,

since lately

I am no longer a girl I used to be.



I look at these books around me

on my bookshelves-

perfectly arranged,

each genre in a different corner of my mind.

I read the names on their spines.

So many I have read

and so many I have yet to read.

So many books

awaiting the touch of my hands

on their pages,

awaiting the crack in their brittle bones

and their soft spines.

So many words await to be read

as they have been written to be-

written for my eyes to indulge in

for my eyes to see.

These words;

written to entertain

and to capture

and expand one’s mind,

they have come to invite me to

another world

another life,

one that I have not chosen and never

would choose yet one that I get to live

and I experience

more than I ever would have imagined possible.


So many books on these shelves

longing to live their purpose;

to propose

that my world may not be the only one.

Try as you will…

Try as hard

as you will,

in time you must accept

that you cannot,

by yourself,

change the way of this world

or the course of the wind.


It was just past two in the morning

when we first met.

You seemed drunk

and smelled of cigarette smoke

and cologne that I did not recognize,

your mind seemed hazed

and your gaze was distant

Yet your eyes came alive

as you spoke of literature

and your words drowned out the stars

when you spoke of writing.

I am this.

We are different.

I’m the short girl in class. I am known for my length and my frizzy hair. I always have been and I probably always will be, but that’s okay because that’s me.

I enjoy reading. I enjoy hiding my head behind a book so that I do not have to be confronted with the screaming reality all around me. Books help me to escape. I cannot stop reading when I know there are still so many books to be read. Reading is how I block out the voices of this world and even the voice in my head.

I love music. Indie, Indie-folk, Indie-alternative, Indie-rock, rock. It depends on my mood, really. I love music, yet I never quite understand how listening to music can be a way of busying oneself. Yes, I enjoy music, the sound, the melody and the words and I do have some songs where I just have to close my eyes and take it all in. But, to me, music is not a verb. It is an adjective, an adverb. It is what I use to block out noise while I work or read, it is my company on long walks or when I am alone. And Goodness help me if I hear another person moan: Music is meant to be listened to, it’s not supposed to be background music. If music is your life, that’s all and well, that’s good, you do you. But please be okay with the fact that music is not all in all my soul’s food, I am not you and you are not me. We are different. And please understand when I say: “you” is not someone I would ever want to be.

I like being alone. Don’t get me wrong, my friends are my home, they’re where I belong. But people are exhausting. After a long day I need to regenerate, yet after a while, I crave human interaction, and if not provided with it I start to hesitate…Am I truly loved/ Does anybody really give a damn? Strange, I know, but that’s just who  I am.

I love writing. It is my refuge when my head is filled with words and thoughts. It is the only way that I can face my fears and failures. Yet sometimes I feel unworthy… Like I have no right to write… Like my words are too inexperienced… Yet even though my words are less important or potent than yours I will continue to write for it is an escape and a privileged for which I will fight. I will continue to moan in the ears of the internet and I will not be caught up society’s web that is composed of yells like: WE GET IT, YOU ARE AN EMOTIONAL WRECK, NOW SHUT UP ABOUT IT.

I will not give in to the demands of this tiring world or the voices in my head that tells me that I am unworthy.

I am loved. I am creative. I am a poet, a dreamer, a reader, a writer.

I am still discovering and inventing myself, yet I know that I am this.


There comes a time…

There comes a time in your life when you have to realise that life is merely that- life.

It is not more and not less

Life is beautiful, wonderful and full of love and adventure.

Life is full of hurt and loss and pain and death.

You make friends and you lose them

You love and love blooms and it is beautiful or it dies and rots and makes you bitter.

Some days you laugh and dance and some days you stay in bed for the lack of a reason to live.

Life is beautiful as it should be.

Life is hard as it should be.

But whatever life is today, be sure to live it.

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