It’s 6 am on a weekend. Why would you be awake? Did all your anxieties keep you from sleeping all night long? Not letting you snooze for more than a minute? Get out of bed then, you. Stop feeling bad about yourself.

Get up. Get your scarf out of the back of your wardrobe and wrap your delicate neck with it. Put on your warmest coat and boots and go out. I know how tempting it is to get out your phone and scroll through your social media for hours. But don’t do it. Get up.

Go for a walk. It’s February so the sun’s not out yet in the early hours of the morning. Walk through the dark and see the sky change colour. Go to the lake, sit on a bench and remember to breathe. How great is the fact that you’re here? Life’s pretty good, isn’t it?

The grass is green, the weather is cold and you don’t need any more adjectives. Sometimes they’re a waste of time.

Let your mind wander off. But don’t feel pressured to do it.
It’s fine if you think about the now. You are an observer and that’s fine. Sometimes even better. Don’t think about where you wish you were, because you and I both know that you love it here. I know sunny beaches, icy drinks and funky music is what you’d like to be doing, but admit it – you wouldn’t like that all day every day, would you? Don’t dream of spring. Winter is just as pretty. You don’t even like spring. So why do you keep looking towards the future and not looking at the now? Look how much is happening!

There’s nothing better than being warm. And there is nothing better to know that you are the one responsible for your warmth. Does that make sense? You should know. You love your coats, you love your jumpers and your tea.

There’s nothing better than taking care of yourself, is what I mean. The fact that you’ve cared enough to put on your gloves, a hat, your warmest jumper, a coat, some fuzzy socks and make yourself a cup of tea just makes me so happy.

Now, close your eyes and imagine the world has stopped moving. You never feel it anyways, do you? You never feel it spinning but once you’ve sat down and there is no one around you do. But it’s okay, time is not real. But you know that already, don’t you? Are you real? You must be? But how can you be sure? The only thing moving is the sun that’s showing behind the cloud. That’s all you need. And your cup of tea.

Don’t be afraid of clichés. Life is made out of clichés. It should be made of clichés. If everyone avoided them there’d be no clichés. And sometimes they’re just too good.

Think about that first kiss. Think about the second kiss. Do you remember your first kiss? Is it a blur now? Think about the first “I love you” and how you trembled and said it out loud with your eyes closed. Not because you didn’t mean it but because it was bigger than you.

Think about your naked body and how vulnerable it was the very first time someone else saw it. Did you mind?

Was your first time special and does that even matter?

Don’t think of boys if you don’t want. Think of your mother and the way she always knows what you need and think of her warmth. Think of your father and your conversations when he’s driving you somewhere and you kind of don’t want to get there. Think of your sister and how she loves you so purely, with no prejudice and no selfishness. Think of how you love her back and you should call her sometime and tell her that.

Is everything alright now or is thinking about things even more stressful?

You can’t make someone love you. Sometimes you can’t even make yourself love you. But no matter how you feel – take care of yourself. That’s what most important. Always. And being warm.

The three dead sparrows

I wanted to write a poem
about the three dead sparrows.
I would’ve compared them to
a sad face;
a sad trumpet;
a broken heart;
a lonely day.
But their death is more
than what you do to me;
and it’s more than a tool for me
to create a poem,
to tell a story,
or to show an image.
The three dead sparrows
will be left unremembered
and unrevenged.
My poem doesn’t do justice
to the way they stopped breathing,
losing their selves to the
Kingdom of Sleep
forever;
to the way they bled out by the canal,
and the world was still;
to the way their eyes closed
accepting their faith.
Dear sparrows,
I’m sorry.

I have some friends
that live inside of me.
They wreck me and
maybe they aren’t
real(ly) friends.

When they know
there’s no one there
they make me wail out
in pain.

They clog my throat
as if it were a pipe,
and they jump up and down my heart
as if it were
a trampoline
(and sometimes they pinch it
really hard).

Sometimes they run around
in my brain and scream
in laughter
or in horror.

I don’t know if they are my friends
at all.

Images

A/N: I had different images of myself in my head and wanted to write them down. I don’t know what they all mean, I guess I’m sort of exploring loneliness as an aspect in poems, but I don’t know if this poem makes sense. I wanted to share it so here you go

Me, walking down a corridor,
almost dragging myself,
in an oversized pyjamas
and a bag of chopped cheddar in my hand.

Me, driving in circles around you
in an empty car park.
I’m laughing and the wind
is making me want to cry.

Me, walking down a different corridor,
almost skipping,
holding a bag of clementines,
which taste like you.

Me, walking down the empty street
at noon,
my massive scarf is suffocating me
but I love the feeling.

Me, walking down the road,
and each car is making me jump,
and each passing light is saying
“You’re not alone in here.”

I am torn between
fear and comfort.

lips

My lips are soft,
even though I haven’t kissed
you in months.
I run my fingers gently
through them and I imagine
your fingers touching them.
My heart skips a beat
and I remember
kisses in snowy January days,
kisses in hot August nights,
kisses in 3 am and
kisses in 3 pm.
My lips carry the memory
of yours, and suddenly
my feet are not touching
the ground and I am floating.
I miss you.
Feel my cherry lips and know
they’re yours until they crack
and loneliness bleeds out.

La Solitude

I have embraced Solitude
and she is my friend now.
We eat together,
we sleep together,
we go on walks together,
and we write poems together.
I need Solitude as one needs
their best friend.
But sometimes I want her to
just fucking go away.
I need her to let me be with others
because I want to have other friends
too.
She always tempts me
to be with her.
She calls my friends and tells them
that I am spending the weekend with her,
that I am going out with her
AND ONLY HER.
I love you, Solitude
but I need others
and sometimes
you hug me too hard and
I suffocate,
and I suffocate
until you tell me that
you are the only one who will
love me as much.

Please, Solitude,
leave me alone.

There are fireworks outside and I’m bored and feeling stuff

I sit on my window sill and gaze at the darkness
Fireworks bang and crackle behind the trees
Some of them are shy and some of them
are fearless
And I am laughing out loud
Because I am happy
I feel every boom in my chest
And I remember how kissing you for the first time felt
Exactly like that
I love you
And the thought of kisses
Makes me melt
Here sitting on the window sill
And I melt
And I’m melting
Down the wall and onto the pavement
Where people step on me and don’t think twice
But I’m smiling
And feeling every fire
work inside me