i dreamt i was devoured

003 | but i am not clay

i've always been “the soft one” and i tried to shapeshift this softness into whatever was needed into whatever i assumed would be liked best

when you do that for a long time for whatever reason – for me it was survival - you forget who you truly are

you unlearn what you really want what you need what would be fun to have or think or say or do

you just fill the molds prepared by others and if you don't fit, well squeeze a bit harder maybe cut a piece off yourself here and there

but there will be a time a day, a moment, a year maybe within which you realize no this isn't who i am

you will see the scars where you cut off parts of yourself and you will see the bruises from squeezing into spaces that were never meant for you

that is the time where you have to decide is it still worth it do i still need to do this or am i ready to leave it all behind

to step away from the molds to let myself become something else to see what shape i take when i'm not forced to fit in

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry

002 | in my goo era

did you know caterpillars basically dissolve to become a butterfly.

but a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map caterpillar - they already are a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map butterfly.

the goo inside the chrysalis is still a brimstone, a swallowtail, a map.

becoming is not pretty; it's cruel and painful and scary.

but during all this time, no matter the state, i am still me, becoming.

#poetry #fortheghostsicarry #whattheflowersknow

001 | the girl who is learning to bite back

so. uhm. hi. instead of trying to introduce myself awkwardly, instead of aiming to describe of how i plan to use this little space, i'll tell you something else -

(okay ONE thing, english is not my first language. and no, i will not stop writing all lowercase.)

so i've been thinking a lot during the past months, trying to figure out what i really want, who i really am -

and it's hard. it's fucking hard.

i've asked myself over and over again, two of the most beautiful but painful and difficult questions you can ask yourself - who am i when i'm not pretending? who am i when i'm not afraid?

and i'm not sure;

but i realized, one thing that's always been with me has been creative expression, in one way or another, and telling stories -

i've always drawn and painted, i was the girl in school who doodled pretty eyes and badly proportioned manga characters everywhere; i wrote fanfiction and poetry;

i wanted to be a photographer in a time before smartphones made it so easy for everyone to just take snapshots of everything, and it felt kind of pointless to pick up a “real” camera (although by now i've realized, it is infinitely more rewarding to take photographs while you have to pay attention to how many you already took; it is infinitely more rewarding to really look at something, see it, and not just push a button and have yet another soulless snapshot you'll probably never look at again);

i love roleplaying and creating characters and their worlds, their feelings, their relationships, going through hardship and celebrate small and big victories with them;

i feel all my life i've been trying to express myself, to tell stories, to show truths -

but then, suddenly, my chest tightens; my throat gets dry, the words get stuck -

what if someone actually sees me?