If I slice my heart open, you will see flours sprout and roots sewing the pieces back together gently and softly.

If I turn my back to you and offer up my spine as a fishing rod, you will see feathers nesting in between my bones.

If I open up my palm and reach out to yours, you can look down on my life line growing.

My scars are there, unhidden, unapologetic.

Look closely and see how they have healed, untainted by pain, unaffected by loss.

My skin reminds me of your touch and my heart beats singing your name.

But my skin is thick and remembers what it needs to grow brighter.

And my heart is fierce and only remembers how light is something that comes from within and not from people.

This is a story void of metaphors.

This is a tale with no symbolism.

This is a love letter.

This is a love letter to you.

You that you have brought my wilting heart back.

You have breathed the memories of what it feels like to be capable of generous love.

But love is fickle.

And when I say fickle and remember you, I stop myself.

I see how before we were the ghost of something undefined, we were the light of a burning candle in the midst of darkness.

But for now I cradle my heart, slowly, let it unfold, and tell it the story of how it overcame many crashing waves in order to enjoy the warm sun.



You’re way ahead by now, a million miles into the river that leads you back home. My heart is spread too thin, fluctuating between wanting you and craving the death of every feeling you birthed in me.
I’m way behind by now, walking down streets where you have sung drunken promises, only to whisk them away, right from under my lashes.
I escape your love and convince myself it’s redemption. I extrapolate to anger, reaching out for the fire within. I play pretend. I run. I run until I can’t breathe, until I crash face down.
So tell me love, have you been to the sea where the waves first whispered to us the story of what could be? Have you sunk your toes into the sand and felt the warmth of my hand on yours? Do you remember the sound of my voice aching for your fingertips on my spine?
Sometimes I wake up and my sheets are white and the sun is warm.
And sometimes I remember that you’re my tongue’s favorite taste. And I go back to the beginning.

Songs for dirty lovers.

My love for you is unwavering in its strength. It abides by no law of martyrdom and voracity. I thought if you’d feed off me, you’ll garnish my soul with your touch. I wanted to ignite you but I never thought you’d grow an arsenal to burn me down.

My love for you is rooted deep into my skin. It itches to be free but knows of no place to call home. My heart looks for sheets untainted and pure. But everything I touch is left with the smell of you.

My love for you disgusts me. It brings my flaking knees to bend. I hoped I’d cleanse the misery out of your pores, but was left with undisclosed thoughts and locked lips.

I thought my love was enough


She held on to the chair as if to feel she was still in this reality, searching for stability while her world was tumbling to the ground. Her eyes grew narrow and her lips parted as if words were coming out but silence settled between her and the walls. Like a trembling leaf falling exquisitely from the tree, surrendering herself to the cycle of what must be, she gasped and lost all relation to the world.

Lights were flickering by and people were moving fast, like in those photographs where everything is hazy leaving a string of light, surrounding that one person standing still, lost in the only familiar place they could find. The crowd kept on brushing her sides, violating her body with their elbows and fingers, almost as if to whisk her back in, but she couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Everything that was held by her flesh and bones was hollow.

Try and imagine, close your eyes and feel it, a big bushy garden torn apart by dead roses and oozing thorns, cradling a old house with cracks nibbling on its edges. Now imagine yourself opening the door, slowly as it squeaks, and squint your eyes to feel the dark. Can you see yourself in that vast empty hallway? Can you detect the magnitude of the ghosts lashing against the walls not being able to get through? Can you see the light under the crumbling doors not being able to reach the doorknob? Can you feel their eyes watching you as you just turn around yourself confused, mildly scared but mostly lost?

She tried to hold on to her pen again, write away the words festering in her  taste buds, rotting ever since she could remember, turning her breathe sour with rage.












Her words didn’t make sense; they didn’t collide into an orbit of metaphors and feelings. They just floated on a piece of wet paper and dried ink, bewildered not knowing if they had a purpose, not knowing if they meant well or were evoked to wound. But she kept on writing and writing, hoping that they would build up into a paragraph, a phrase, any similarity of an explanation.


 I wish I could shed my skin, breed new cells all over again and start a new pattern.  How I want to be untouched and untainted. I want to be clean of all of you, like a newborn’s skin, shining under the twinkling lights of the nursery

If only I could shake you out of my entire nerve cells down the ramifications of my spine. Wake up in the morning and smell the coffee and be reminded of everything new, without the cracking flashes of broken memories

Could I build 5 new senses? Exchange all the ones I have now, with all their emotional package and start over. I wonder how it would feel like to listen to my first song again. Would my ears tingle and my spine shiver

How I wish I was somebody new, unaffected by you, someone that wouldn’t remember you at every corner. I hope, from the bottom of my guts, from the fiber of every atom in my body, from all the energy that I still have in me that my scars would fade away; that people won’t just look at me and know that I am bruised and battered and shattered by my past

I pray for you to never feel possessed by somebody else, and if you do, then I pray you hide it well

My leaves.

My autumn leaves come in four.

They float down around me, around my life and captivate me. They sing a little lullaby while they turn and turn. I try to catch them as I watch them dance swiftly in the blowing  wind.

I remember my first autumn leaf. I had never seen one before. It fell down on me and everything changed. Oh how beautifully it smelled, oh how  sweet. It got engraved in my soul so deep. It was unique and simple. Pure and perfect. If I close my eyes, I can remember. I can almost feel how safe I felt in the unfamiliar, the unknown. I let go and fell with my leaf.

But people are arrogant. They are selfish and gluttonous . My brain was tickled by all the leaves out there floating in the air, and I couldn’t have enough. I needed to see all the shades of green, all the various leaves fall from all the trees. Sip them through my fingers and breathe them in.

Then came the dream.

I had to prove to it that life is not all about instinct and desires. I had to show that leaf that there is so much more to look forward to than the deadly winter.

Winter came, and winter left. And I cradled my leaf, so fragile, so scared it would shatter from the cold. But try as I may, leaves are not supposed to outlive seasons and weathers.

They dry up and shatter in a dusty powder.

Overwhelmed with grief over my long lost yellow leaf, I walked through the trees. I dragged my legs one little step at a time, staring at the sky in all its colors, waiting.

That’s when it happened. I felt all the energy float into me, possess my body and revitalize it. I felt my veins pumping my blood and my heart beating fiercely. And I saw it. I saw that little brown leaf take me by the hand and walk me through the little rocky path. It showed me the way towards a little hill. Towards a little hut where everything was better somehow.

My leaf took care of me and nurtured me. It gave me tea and melody. It gave me my morning suns.

As it gave me life, I drained it. I sucked out all of its energy and force. I damaged my leaf, I broke it, I shattered it and dusted it off and I broke my own heart along the way.

I never meant to hurt it, I never meant to throw away the most amazing of them all. I just smashed it.

Just when I thought I had been given all the chances I deserved, I turned to my right and I ran. I ran so fast through the empty street. On the coldest night of them all, I ran. And I caught it before it touched the ground. With scratched elbows and bleeding knees I stood up tall, loving every bit of my leaf. It was all kinds of colors, all kinds of shades. That one was different. I could see right through it, see all its pain from the fall and I knew that all I wanted to do from now on, is bring it back to life. Brush life on its thorns. Sing it to sleep and walk it under the moonlight.

I owed it to my leaf.

I owed it to my leaves.

What I never knew, what I never noticed, was how these leaves were all driven by the wind. They floated wherever the wind blew. They tagged along searching for more, wanting more. Always more.

They never asked, they never looked back.

One night I looked to my left, and my leaf was gone. All I had left of it was a little drawing on my shelf.

And I wonder if you think about the stars and the birds…


Recommended Playlist:

Ed Sheeran – Autumn leaves

Bon Iver – Skinny love

Strays don’t sleep – For blue skies

Lena Chamamyan – Cha’am

Fly away*

If you must, fly away, fly away before you take me down with you. If you can’t help but drown with me, then spread your wings and let go, let go and you’ll see, you’ll be able to fly away.

This bubble is so fragile that my breath is bruising it, it’s disfiguring the rainbows and the day and the light. And I’m tired of holding my breath scared that it would burst. Tired of pretending that tomorrow morning, things will be alright again and that you’ll fly back in my arms.

The stars aligned for you, they bowed and cheered for you, they sprinkled silver moon dust on you. The galaxies smiled for you, the turned and colored for you, they sang you a lullaby. And the sky it stares at your picture perfect frame.

I know better than to take you away from that, I know better than to hold you back and hold on to you. I’m not strong enough for this. You can’t see how I’m shaking and my heart is racing hiding from you.

There are so many layers of clothes I wear so that you don’t see the scars on my skin, so that you don’t see my veins bleeding.

Fly, if you must, fly far far away. But don’t let me see you rise; don’t let me see you sore high in the sun; don’t let me see you be happy without me, because knowing I took it away hurts me more than you leaving.