A Nymph

It's a story. 

About a nymph.

Her heart was broken. 

By a faun.

She became yet another abandoned nymph with a past that she wants to forget.

 A nymph with desire to stitch her heart and wax it. 

To make it whole again.

 She became a recluse in an attempt to rediscover herself. 

It was quiet. 

Her body was a mere shell.

But one day she could hear a melody. 

Around, above and inside. 

Somewhere deep down, where her heart used to be buried.

That was the sound of hope. 

The melody of healing. 

She had herself all along. 

She knows herself better than anyone. 

And she can love. 

And be loved. 

By a more deserving faun.

The Raven

 A curious little bird.

They fear me, they respect me, they hate me.

They throw stones at me. I am either scorned or ignored.

 I am a messenger. A story teller.

And a fortuitous thief.

  

This whole thing about death... Let's not put it on my wings. 

Black plumage and uncomplimentary voice.

That's me. But I'm merely a bird.

Spring is Coming

Warmth,

 on the face.

An enchanting revelation

about the easiness of existence.

And ridiculous lightheartedness.

A Doll

 She's a Doll. 

 And not a new one.

 She's been around for a while.

 She saw some things.

 They made her numb.

A little bit uncanny.

And ghostly.

A Modern Tribal Woman

Do I even have a tribe? I like to think that I do. I am just not quite sure who the members are.

Though I have a vague idea. I'm thinking..... Wanderers, Artisans, Lovers, Melancholics, Daydreamers, Dreamers, Kissers, Seekers,  Chevaliers, Vagabonds, Savages (you know what I mean!)...

Windmill Fighters, Animals (political correctness?), Romantics, Idealists, Huggers, Clowns, Fools (you don't know what I mean. Or maybe you do? :-)...

 Night Owls, Early Birds, Readers, Poets, Melodists, Writers, Hermits...

And those who smile. Even when shite is about to get real.

No Art Here

Maybe she was walking around the house and that made a loud noise.

Or breathing. Breathing can be loud.

And he was tired. And a bit nervous. And he just wanted to have a nice beer in peace.

And she had to put too much salt in his food. It’s like she was trying to poison him, or something.

And he won’t have that in his house.

So, he teaches her a lesson.

Or two.

When he hits her, she screams.

Now it’s really noisy and he has no patience. At all.

She has nowhere to hide.

This is not art. This is somebody’s life. Right now. Somewhere.

To a tyrant

When you hit somebody, or when  you abuse that person emotionally, you may hear people say: ‘’What an animal!’’

But, you are not an animal. Trust me. You are a non-human  creature, though.

A genuine filth.

A coward.

*

To the One who took it all

He does not own your life, although he did every possible thing to convince you otherwise.

He did his best to make you feel weak and unworthy of love and respect.

All that he did was,  and is a lie.

He, does not, own you.

Finally..

Let’s get one thing straight.

It can happen to men, too. And no, it doesn’t make them weak. Period.