I experiment with words sometimes.
My mind is always running in overdrive so when I can’t take photographs I work on some poetry. Yes I am one of thoooosseee guys.
Not necessarily autobiographical.
Sometimes it is… Sometimes it isn’t…
Sometimes it is a combination of both and let the fictional and the real intertwine.
Past or present. Or just some observations…
What I wrote and do share is also not like the the three words Instagram haiku shit or for people with short attention spans. You actually have to read.
Anyways…
This is “Winter tea in summer…“
It needs to be tweaked a little but I have been writing it since last night.
I woke up this morning
Same position as I fell asleep
When I tried to get up I wanted to clear my eyes
I rubbed and I rubbed
It didn't work
It didn't make any sense as well
It all was gone... Disappeared same as my eyes
My lips... My ears... My nose...
I am not me anymore...
When I got out of bed I tried not to wake you
It was time to go
So I got up and turned the kettle om
and grabbed a pen..
Why does poetry or letters always has to about sex?
Let them be about love, the lack of love, or no love at all...
Or about the time I was excited to meet you for the first time
Or the moment when I realized I was just with you because I feared to be alone
The time when we got drunk and it felt right to kiss you
But I didn't because it didn't feel right as well
That's how I figured it out...
A combination of tears and ink smudged the paper as I wrote down my feelings
I don't hate you, I don't! I swear...
Your heart will not believe that for sure
But it is the right thing to do
You deserve someone who truly loves you
I deserve someone I truly love
Let’s not be one of those couples that you see hurting from a distance
One of those couples you see there is something wrong but you just can’t put your finger on it
You can see it in their shadows that have a life of their own
Shadows that have coffee and kiss the other dark mess they have always been searching for
It seemed my fingers and hands had a life of their own as well
As I wrote down the last words while I took a sip of my tea
I made some winter tea in summer…
It all came back again
As soon as I closed the envelope
My eyes
My lips... My ears... My nose...
When I got out of the door I tried to clear my eyes
From some tears
And just
because it was a hard good bye
~ Winter tea in summer