my hips are bruised in my dreams by téa nicolae

*poem published in Eunoia Review

 

my hips are bruised in my dreams

and i wake up itching,

pressing my fingers onto my thighs,

covering my purple skin.

 

my hips swell in my dreams

and tentacles circle my feet,

wrapping around my toes when i walk

and i stumble and fall on my face.

when i wake up,

my cheeks ache.

 

my wrists have blisters in my dreams

and there is ash under my fingernails.

when i wake up,

my hands are swollen.

 

on cold nights

when i’m afraid to go to sleep

i light three candles

and hug my knees.

i promise myself

that one day

i won’t dream of bruises

 

one day

my dreams will be amber

and i’ll wake up with warmth

in my stomach.

 

 

my hips are bruised in my dreams

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

i dream that my teeth fall out at night by téa nicolae

*a shortened version of this poem was shortlisted for the Literary Lancashire Award and published in the LLA Anthology 2019, extremely grateful and so, so tearful ❤

 

dear A,

i dream that my teeth fall out at night

and i swallow them,

one by one.

my teeth scratch the insides of my throat

and i choke on them.

i wake up crying,

cover my mouth and scream into my fingers,

pushing my hands into my forehead,

as if i’m trying to pull my mind out of my head.

it’s been one month since your funeral.

 

dear A,

i am crying all the time now.

i cry for you in the shower

i cry for you in front of my untouched breakfast

i cry for you in toilets in metro stations

i cry for you gracelessly doing my make-up

i cry for you when i wash my hair with blueberry shampoos

i cry for you when i read your messages, the 67th time.

i cry and i long for you,

i cry and i long for you.

 

dear A,

some days

i cry less and i eat apples

some days

i wear red and buy you flowers.

some days

my mind blocks my pain

and i am better.

some days

my friends make me laugh

and i find comfort in being alive.

 

i dread those days.

those days my head swims in guilt

and my shame thumps in my ears.

those days i feel myself forgetting you

and i wish i could glue your eyes to my mind.

 

when those days end,

i break my mind with photos of you

and i dream of melting.

 

dear A,

i’m soaking in loss and i’m chanting buddhist mantras

 

dear A,

they say that i should surrender my grief

they say that we are bound together,

even if i heal

but how can it be

when you only exist through my pain

 

dear A,

i am willing to suffer each day for you

so you do not to die again.

 

LLA Award
from the LLA Anthology 2019

 

i untangle my youth by téa nicolae

*poem published and illustrated in tastzine. it was my first time having my poetry illustrated and i was over the moon ❤

 

i untangle my youth

in wild cities that make me squirm

thirstily clinging to fruit flavoured wine

and burning my tongue with round-shaped pills

 

i feel the party to my core

i dance violently

contorting my limbs

to trivial dance anthems

i throw myself against my friends’ bodies

hungry for empty affection

 

when i shut my eyes

i float

as the bass, the drums, the music

flow through my veins

and strengthen my bones

 

at closing time

we leave the dance floor holding hands

whispering untold truths

with damp cheeks

i tremble in my oversized coat

but i relish the warmth in our laced fingers

 

5:11 in the morning

we dance on the westminster bridge

spiralling in sequins,

i stretch my arms and roll my head

and the stars are closer

i twirl and i wish

i could cradle them in my hand

 

the ferris wheel glows and my friends sparkle

and i want to glue their faces to my mind

 

my best friend turns to me

sweaty,

with a glimmer in his eyes and chewing on a cigarette

“i wish my mother could be this happy”,

he says with adoration

and

i cry.

i untangle my youth
“This beautiful and vivid poem is by Tea Nicolae. It’s about being young and wild, and partying, and enjoying yourself just out of being yourself, right there right now.”

layla curled her hair when she was sad

today i read out a poem about a dear friend’s struggle with an eating disorder at the feminist x writers collab open mic, which raised money for SEED, a charity dedicated to providing the necessary support and guidance for people who suffer from eating disorders.

it was very humbling to watch my friend fight and overcome her pain. her bravery is inspiring, raw and real.  my writing doesn’t do her story justice, but i hope it will help inspire others and it will shed light on how real eating disorders are and how heartbreaking it is that they can be dismissed so lightly.
to my friend: i’m so grateful you are in my life. all my love and light to you. you shine ✨

 

 

layla curled her hair when she was sad

 

layla curled her hair when she was sad

and picked at her food with clumsy fingers

“one more bite”

i used to urge,

and she would shake her head with a smile.

 

layla counted the calories in her food when she was sad.

“i think i’ve lost weight again”, she would say,

looking at her feet.

i counted how many crisps she’d had in my head

as she pushed her food with her fork.

 

layla wrote poems when was sad.

when she read me a poem she wrote about food,

i tried not to break in front of her.

i wished she could see how kind,

warm

and brave she was.

i wished she craved to fill herself

with the gentleness she carried for others.

 

layla cried when she was sad

and i held her tightly.

“why do i treat myself so horribly”

she whispered in my hair.

 

when layla was told that she would end up in hospital

if she lost any more weight

she vowed to be as kind to herself

as she was to others.

 

she struggled for four months

to fight her mind and her belly

and she cried and hurt

as i stared helplessly.

but when she picked herself up

she held her head high,

like a warrior.

 

today layla curls her hair when she feels grateful

and she sends me photos of clean plates.

she tells me she feels hunger with bright eyes

“i’ve never felt hungry before.

now i crave hot-boiled potatoes.”

 

“i felt full

because i fed my brain the wrong things.”

she tells me softly

as pride floods my heart.

 

openmic
reading out at the feminist x writers open mic

You are crazy, my child. You must go to Berlin

extracts from a Berlin travel guide I worked on for three and a half weeks, during my first internship:

Feature: Introduction to Berlin

Much has been written about Berlin’s blend of history, outstanding culture and infamous nightlife. Proclaimed the capital of cool, Berlin is where you can “go to all-night parties, attend a screening of an arthouse film and an anti-Trump demonstration within 24 hours”, as The Times noted. Some talk about Berlin’s fall from grace, wondering if the city’s growing popularity diminished its authenticity and turned the city into a growingly expensive tourist trap.

From Marlene Dietrich, who sang “I still keep a suitcase in Berlin” with a piercing longing, to the rebellious singer Iggy Pop, who called Berlin his home, many artists have voiced their love for Berlin.

“You are crazy, my child. You must go to Berlin” (Franz von Suppé)

Affordable, buzzing, wild and carefree, Berlin is a symbol for tolerance and open-mindedness. Unlike other metropolises in Europe, it’s a place where you can relax. Berliners do not rush. They take their time, basking in the sun with their low-cut T-shirts and heavily tattooed arms, flicking back their occasionally bright-coloured hair.

Nights in Berlin are freaky, intense and fiery. The club culture is exhilarating; anything goes. Berlin is a techno capital: notorious DJs, outrageous raves and 36-hour long parties. There are plenty of clubs to choose from, perhaps the most infamous being Berghain, which pays the same taxes as theatres and concert halls, as it is considered to produce work of cultural significance.

It’s magical to lose yourself in Berlin’s night scene, in the hazy beat of electronic music and in the half-clothed masses. There is a strong sense of acceptance. You are free to be yourself. You won’t be judged.

“Berlin, the greatest cultural extravaganza that one could imagine” (David Bowie)

Berlin is a home to artists and a paradise to emerging creators, who come here to pursue their dreams. There are around 20,000 artists living and working in the city, lured by cheap rents, the city’s libertine energy and the massive studio spaces. The street art mirrors the city’s fantastic art scene.

Berlin is bursting with culture and history. It has 175 museums, even more than New York. It’s an open museum too: from the Berlin Wall to Checkpoint Charlie and to the Nazi book burning site at Babelplatz, Berlin’s unique history can be seen by foot.

“Berlin is cheap, but sexy” (Klaus Wowereit)

Berlin is the cheapest capital city in Western Europe. While it is getting expensive, perhaps because of its touristy appeal, it is the perfect place for backpackers, artists and adventurers for now. You can get a cup of coffee for €2, a lunch for less than €10, a pint of beer for €2-4, a day travel pass for €6,50 and a decent double room in a hotel for €50 per night. What is more, some of the attractions of Berlin are free, such as East Side Gallery, Raw Tempel and Yaam Beach.

Paris is always Paris and Berlin is never Berlin! (Jack Lang)

Nonetheless, Berlin is constantly changing, you never know what to expect. You need to experience it yourself.

Reviews: Art, Beauty & Vegan Food

Beyond Compare: How African and European Sculptures Carve the Essence of Humanity

There are few exhibitions as fascinating as Bode Museum’s “Beyond Compare”. “Beyond Compare” brings together, compares and analyses the sculptural traditions of two continents by displaying, side by side, 70 African sculptures, along with renowned masterpieces from Byzantium, Italy and central Europe.

Despite their radical stylistic differences, it is interesting to observe how the artworks touch the same themes. They illustrate the frailty of the human experience, exploring subjects such as death, beauty, motherhood, power, spirituality and love. Cultures apart, humans seemed to be moved by the same matters; it is remarkable to see the dainty, gothic sculpture of Madonna, Virgin of Mercy, appear next to a seemingly raw sculpture which represents a power figure from Congo. The second sculpture looks quite crude next to the carefully-carved Madonna, but both were made with the intent to ask for protection, to invoke forces that are beyond the physical world.

In the exhibition’s first slide, it is noted that the works displayed were made by human beings, and not by “cultures”, “tribes”, “ethnic groups” or “nations”. It is important to keep this in mind while strolling through the museum, as this exhibition is not an objective comparison between two different cultures, but a soft reflection of human nature.

Address: Am Kupfergraben, 10117 Berlin. Closest stations: Friedrichstraße, Hackescher Markt; Bus TXL Staatsoper, Lustgarten, Friedrichstraße. Opening hours: Monday – closed; Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday: 10:00 – 18:00; Thursday: 10.00 – 20.00. Prices: 12,00 EUR, Reduced 6,00. Website: https://www.smb.museum/museen-und-einrichtungen/bode-museum/home.html Contact: Tel 030 266 42 42 42

Enjoy the silence in Museum der Stille

Museum der Stille (“Museum of Silence”) is a unique invitation to embrace the silence in the middle of the lively district of Berlin Mitte. It’s a small, free and beautiful exhibition of paintings and architectural models that illustrate different stages of stillness. It is lovely, subtle and, above all, silent. In the middle of the museum, there is only one piercing painting of a woman who’s gazing through you, with a simple wooden bench in front it. The walls are a deep, warm red and the light is dimmed. The profound silence makes the experience sincere and intense; you are struck by a strong feeling of here and now. While at the beginning you might be put off by the awkwardness of hearing your feet clumsily shuffling through the museum, you will gently ease into the museum’s serenity, if you let yourself. For once, you do not have to rush. It’s enough just to take it all in.

Even after leaving the museum and walking back into broad daylight, the spell of silence is not broken. You might be finding yourself humming Depeche Mode and thinking that they were right, perhaps. It is enough just to enjoy the silence.

Address: Linienstraße 154A, 10115 Berlin Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße. Opening hours: Tuesday – Sunday 14:00 – 19:00 Prices: Free Website: http://museum-der-stille.de/de/ Contact: info@museum-der-stille.de Tel: +49 (0) 30 278 919 90

CWC Gallery: exploring the modern and the contemporary

If you have a soft spot for art, but find most museums to be too sombre and a little old-fashioned, CWC Gallery might just be the place for you. “CWC” stands for “Camera Work Contemporary” and, as its name suggests, it focuses on contemporary and slightly modern positions found in photography, painting and sculpture. The gallery is in the heart of the bohemian Berlin-Mitte quarter and, while stylish and elegant, it isn’t pretentious and it has an easy-going vibe. It’s also completely free!

The first floor is a homage to the 1990s that recreates the dreamy allure of the era. Wandering around, you are charmed by goddesses of the ‘90s: photos of the iconic Iman, Gisele Bündchen, Uma Thurman and Halle Berry, all captured by Micheal Comte, are plastered on walls. Their half-smile and bouncy curls will leave you longing. You can soothe your temporary nostalgia by moving onto the next floors, where you can admire a beautifully curated and impressive exhibition of modern works of art, some of which display a striking social commentary.

In the same building, you can also find quite an interesting permanent exhibition about The Kennedys, which explores the political success and the private life of John F. Kennedy. The admission fee is 5€.

Address: Auguststraße 11–13, 10117 Berlin Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße. Opening hours: Tuesday to Friday 10:00 -18:00 Saturday 11:00 – 18:00. . Prices: Free. Website: https://camerawork.de/ Contact: info@camerawork.de Tel 030 24048614

Yoyo FoodWorld: the oldest vegan fast-food joint in Berlin

Yoyo FoodWorld is a hip fast-food joint on the Gärtnerstrasse 27 and the first and oldest vegan fast-food in Berlin.

For almost ten years, Yoyo hasn’t been your typical fast-food. Its atmosphere is similar to one of a quiet, cozy indie bar. Indoors, the light is slightly dimmed and there are photos of famous musicians and philosophers plastered on the restaurant’s walls, along with cult film posters that would make any film student swoon. Soft rock music plays in the background. The outdoor sitting is just as delightful, as the area surrounding the joint is lovely and inviting.

The food is cheap, fantastic and sure to satisfy your cravings, as the options are varied. They have 3,50€ burgers, 6,50€ pizza, 5€ wraps, 6€ schnitzels, 5€ seitan Currywursts, 3,80€ sea food and meatballs at the price of 8 for 3,20€. All the dishes are deliciously vegan and would work perfectly as comfort food or hangover food. It’s also the place to take your friends to convince them that vegan food is tasty.

Another highlight is the toilet, which is exceptionally cool. It’s filled with queer stickers, feminist and political statements, colourful graffiti and carefully scribbled love poems; ideal for a quirky Instagram post.

Address: Gärtnerstraße 27, 10245 Berlin Closest stations: Samariterstr., Frankfurter Tor, Warschauer Str. Opening hours: Monday- Thursday 12:00 – 23:00, Friday – Saturday 12:00 – 00:00, Sunday 12:00 – 23:00. Prices: € Website: http://www.yoyofoodworld-berlin.de/ Contact: kontakt@yoyofoodworld-berlin.de

Get fettundbetrunken at the Chaostheorie

Chaostheorie is the first vegan cocktail bar in Germany. Their slogan is “fettundbetrunken”: “fat and drunk”, so expect to find a perfect mix of cheap comfort food and funky alcohol.

Onto the first part of their motto, “fat”: the food is fantastic. From a veganized traditional cuisine to more modern dishes, the highlights are juicy currywursts, enormous doner kebabs, fries with dripping dips, pulled mushroom burgers and thick cheese meatball sandwiches. To sweeten things up, the selection of house-made cakes is flavourful to say the least. The Oreo cake, smooth and crunchy at the same time, is a popular favourite. The soft drinks are also a dream: creamy milkshakes, Snickers, Manner or Oreo flavored, and rich freakshakes. You can settle for classic options, too: late macchiato, hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, coffee with caramelized milk and hot applesauce with cinnamon and vanilla soya milk.

Now, onto the second part of their motto…”drunk”! You can sip traditional cocktails or try out the bartender’s specials: experimental and refreshing mixtures such as Julep Blue, bourbon, blue curaçao, ginger ale and limette.

The place itself is cozy: dim light, soft indie music, shelves stacked with books and a lovely photobooth perfect for making memories.

Even if you’re looking for a quiet afternoon with good food or for a tipsy evening, in Chaostheorie you can find the things you thought you’d never enjoy again once you went vegan.

Address: Schliemannstraße 15, 10437 Berlin. Closest Stations: Prenzlauer Alle, Stargarder Str., Schönhauser Allee. Opening Hours: Mon, Tue, Wed: 17:00 – 22:00; Thu: 17:00 – 23:00; Fri: 17:00 – 01:00; Sat: 15:00 – 01:00; Sun: 15:00 – 22:00. Price range: € (under €10). Website: http://www.chaostheorie.berlin/ Contact: 030/548 907 34; info@chaostheorie.berlin.

Challenge yourself at the Kunst-Werke Institute for Contemporary Art

The Kunst-Werke Institute for Contemporary Art is a remarkable contemporary art institution located in the Berlin’s picturesque district Mitte. The building is a sight itself and it has a sophisticated allure, tall and elegant. The outdoor café has a lovely Parisian appeal and it’s where the hip tattooed artists you might have seen on Tumblr sip their coffees in the afternoon.

The works of art exhibited in the Institute are complex. You can marvel at political activist art, video art, visual art or interactive art. They’re also controversial, with people either excitedly praising them or dismissing them as meaningless. The exhibitions are divided into rooms: in some rooms you might be deafened by booming nature sounds, while in others you might be asked to take off your shoes and wander into an empty, soundproof room, where you’d be faced with a gut-wrenching documentary about the condition of the modern black artist. However, you never know what to expect, as the exhibits change constantly. Nonetheless, the works of emerging young artists are unique and do not hold the reassurance of traditional art: they challenge you and shake you. They draw out a strong response, be it positive or negative.

Finally, even if you occasionally roll your eyes at modern art, you should give the KW Institute a chance. At least one of the works of art displayed might move you.

Address: Auguststraße 69, 10117 Berlin. Closest stations: Oranienburger Tor, Oranienburger Straße.  Price: 16€ general entrance, 10€ reduced. Opening hours: Monday: 11:00 – 19:00. Tuesday: Closed. Wednesday: 11:00-19:00. Thursday: 11:00-21:00. Friday, Saturday, Sunday: 11:00 – 19:00. Website: https://www.kw-berlin.de/ Contact : +49 30 243459-0, info@kw-berlin.de.

Be Here, Be Queer at the Schwules Museum

The Schwules Museum is the world’s first gay museum, originally opened in 1985. It exhibits the violent history and the injustices the LGBTQ community endured in the past, as well as Berlin’s current queer life.

Schwules is not your typical queer museum. If you expect it to be bustling with colour and rainbows, you might be taken aback. To an extent, it is exceptionally colourful, with cheeky illustrations of young gay couples kissing, soft porn photos and neon slogans about love. But a more serious tone is predominant. The permanent exhibitions also depict gay history milestones, such as the feminist revolution, the composition of the first feminist songs of the German movement or the protests of a working group of lesbian teachers. In the middle of the museum, there’s a memorial dedicated to the LGBT people who were killed in concentration camps. Their names are written in blood-red. You will also shudder upon entering the museum, where you can see a lengthy list of countries where homosexuality is currently considered a punishable crime.

It is important to go to the Schwules Museum because you will be reminded of how painful history is and how the free world we live in required sacrifices. And how, for some, the world still isn’t free.

It is not allowed to take pictures, which at first might be quite annoying, as your initial impulse might be to want to immortalize everything. However, this might help you take in all the information and carefully weigh what you’re seeing.

Finally, is important to go to the Schwules Museum because you will be reminded of how painful history is and how the free world we live in required sacrifices. And how, for some, the world still isn’t free.

Address: Lützowstraße 73, 10785 Berlin Closest Stations: U Nollendorfplatz, U Kurfürstenstraße, Lützowstraße / Potsdamer Straße, Lützowplatz. Opening hours: Monday: 14:00 – 18:00, Tuesday: Closed, Wednesday: 14:00 – 18:00, Thursday: 14:00 – 20:00, Friday: 14:00 -18:00, Saturday: 14:00 – 19:00, Sunday: 14:00 – 18:00. Price: € 7.50 regular, € 4 reduced. Website: https://www.schwulesmuseum.de/ Contact: 030 69599050

Sun and wholesome food at The Bowl

The Bowl, self-proclaimed a “clean-eating restaurant”, is the perfect place for a cozy lunch with your friends or for a breakfast date with a book. They only use fresh, seasonal, healthy and gluten-free products. Everything is fully sustainable and vegan. They even use natural sugar! And, truthfully, the food is indeed full of flavour and it leaves you with a sense of freshness. They have a great variety of bowls: from rich breakfast bowls filled with sweet fruit, raw chocolate and creamy soy yoghurt to lavish plates with roasted vegetables, mashed avocado raw crackers, zucchini and smoked paprika.

The desserts are a treat, as well. The highlights are the lush vanilla almond cake, with coconut blossom sugar, raw chocolate and coconut strawberry and bananenbrot, with grilled banana, granola, warm strawberry sauce and raw chocolate.

While it is a bit pricey, 6,50 € for breakfast bowls and around 10 € for the lunch specials, the naturalness of the food, its filling base and vitamin-rich toppings make it all worth it.

The dishes are perfectly Instagrammable and the colourful variety of vegetables and legumes doesn’t even need a filter. While enjoying your wholesome food, you can bask in the sun in front of the large windows and observe the buzzing Warschauer Straße, with hazy, synth-pop music unfolding in the background.

What is more, on the ground floor of the same building where Bowl is, you can find Veganz, a plant-based supermarket with an impressively wide range of products, from cheese and ham slices to cashew cookies, ice cream and the finest chocolate cream.

Address: Warschauer Str. 33, 10243 Berlin Closest Stations: Warschauer Str. Opening hours: Monday: 10:30-23:00, Tuesday: 10:30–23:00, Wednesday: 10:30–23:00, Thursday: 10:30–23:00, Friday: 10:30–23:00, Saturday: 10:00–23:00, Sunday: 10:00-23:00. Price: €€ Website: http://www.the-bowl.de/ Contact: 030 29771447

space monkey by téa nicolae

*poem published in flash journal

 

urban dictionary:

every time i feel ugly

i pull my hair out of my roots and play space monkey with the boy that lives two streets down from me

we meet in his room at 11pm, usually on tuesdays.

we order taco bell and choke each other with greasy fingers.

i find solace in his grasp

the harsher he gets, the more beautiful i am.

necks clenched, we stare in silence

and i remember the nights i spent on bathroom floors

drunk, thinking of the people that broke me.

 

i’d tell my boy about my bathroom nights,

but we never speak.

we just clutch our throats and collapse into each other

cat scars on our arms

lapsing back into old habits.

 

we spend four nights a month and forty-eight a year

gazing at our draining cheeks

and drowning into each other

i know each one of his pimples,

his chapped puckered lips,

his clumsily shaved sideburns

and the straight slope of his nose,

while he knows the mole in my left eyebrow,

he sees the cracks in my oil-based foundation

when his fingers close around my neck,

he understands me,

just like children understand the world with their hands.

 

when we fall into each other,

breathless

fragments of dream buzzes burning our heads,

the lack of oxygen strips our minds bare

and i am beautiful again.

 

29060279_1794741787235375_6159956148758480898_o

I still remember the tremble in my friend’s voice

i’ve been feeling pretty bleak lately and i haven’t felt like sharing the pieces that i have written these past two months. i haven’t performed anything either, but i came out of my shell yesterday for the lgbtq+ open mic (which marked the end of the lgbt history month) and read out a few tales of intolerance. it was heart-warming to take in so much beauty, so much confidence and so much love. as i am learning to believe in love, here they are:

I still remember the tremble in my friend’s voice.

We were curled up in a small stool in our school’s bathroom and were listening to Life Round Here; soft volume. Shoulders pressed, we hummed along, eyes stuck to uncapped markers and to obscene words spread on walls. The tips of our fingers barely touched.

“I think I like boys too.”

For a brief moment, his eyes held a shaky urgency, as if he expected a blow.

I reached out for his hand.

“I know.”, I said.

I later learned it was not my blow he feared.

I remember my P.E. teacher from middle school, who taught my thirteen-year-old self the perks of cruelty.

In the seventh grade, a friend of mine liked a girl. She would gush about how beautiful her hair was and how soft and damp her hands would be in hers. She would cut classes to meet her in lone parks in the afternoon and she had made a habit out of skipping P.E. Word got around.

One Tuesday afternoon, our P.E. teacher arranged us in a circle and asked us where she was. We kept silent. She asked again, more menacingly.

“Is she out with boys?”, my teacher half-joked.

“Oh, no, miss.”, a tall girl from my right quipped. “She likes girls.”

She was careful to nuance it rightly.

I remember how my P.E. teacher’s over-lined lips pressed together tightly. Her excessively plucked eyebrows raised high. “Girls?”

A few of my classmates nodded silently, giggling, eyes gleaming.

She touched her forehead lightly and made the sign of the cross.

“Oh, God. She really is crazy then.”

She launched into a homophobic rant, which I don’t remember. But I remember staring at her, dumbfounded, silent, chewing on my bottom lip and holding back tears. I was so angry at myself for days afterwards. Why didn’t I say anything?

But a classmate of mine did. “She can like whoever she wants to.”, she said lowly. The tall girl puffed and turned to the teacher. “She likes Lady Gaga.” she explained.

I remember the second time a girl kissed me. We were at a party, she was tipsy and her teeth knocked mine. We both pulled away to laugh at our clumsiness. When she leaned in again, a girl we barely knew ran to us. She grabbed my shoulder sharply, digging her nails into my skin. I remember her half-shocked, half-angry face, complimented with a smirk.

“Are you both crazy? You’re embarrassing yourselves.”, she spat.

I remember comforting a girl who fell in love with another. 3. a.m., an endless whatsapp conversation, my heart breaking to questions such as “What if my friends stop talking to me?” “What if my mum finds out?” “What if my ex-boyfriend thinks I’m a freak?” She told me that what was crushing her was that she did not fear rejection from her crush anymore, but gossip, isolation and backlash instead. “Am I wrong?”

I remember a friend’s heavy eyes. He told us that his father had kicked him out.

“He found out.” he said simply.

I remember a friend faintly whispering: “He does not like me because I am not as soft as a girl”.

I remember the lies some of my friends told their parents when they went to the Pride Parade, I remember how they hid from cameras and photos, how they stuffed their rainbow badges in their pockets on their way home.

I remember a boy that reached out to me on Facebook. He was gay and he was hurting. He was part of his high school’s cool gang and his best friends were crushingly homophobic. He was crumbling and he was watching Shane Dawson for comfort. One day, he stopped answering my messages. I still look him up on Facebook from time to time. He has many pictures with his girlfriend.

I remember my homophobic teachers. I remember a teacher pointing to my friend’s bleached hair and asking if he was “one of those”, I remember the spiteful protests in my country. I remember hearing the words “faggot”, “queer” and their equivalents in my mother-tongue, all laced with venom. I remember my gay friends crying at afterparties and smudging the glitter they had carefully applied on their faces, I remember my Facebook comments being flooded with homophobia and I remember the pure bliss of Prides.

Lastly, I remember the numerous people who have told me, patronizingly, that advocating for the LGBTQ community was not important enough. As if, with all the hurt there is out there, there would be anything more important than advocating for love.

david
my friend, david, performing his heartfelt pieces last night ^.^

i try

*poem written as a prompt from L.C.

i

try.

i carry oversized gift bags on the bus

and hang torn earphones from my neck.

chin stuck to ice smudged windows,

i hum of make-believe merriment

and rip price tags smoothly.

i

try.

i fold myself in silk ribbons

and curl my yore in matching jumpers

i paint my face in red and green

and break two fingers flattening pink wish cards.

i crunch on gingerbread

and choke on warmth at noon.

i

try.

i eat cold pizza and squint at christmas rom-coms in the mornings

i munch on burnt popcorn and adorn plastic trees at midnights,

gracelessly.

i watch friends unwrap my presents and rest my forehead on their shoulders

how did you know?

they kiss my hair

this is the best gift i’ve ever got

i

try.

i fly home

i cry on the plane

i smile at my mother

i crumble in my room

i try.

i am insomniac and slippery

but i try.

1st of January, 2016 – Dear A.,

*this is a poem i wrote about my grief.

*performed at a slam poetry contest in st. andrews, where i spent three weeks in the summer of 2016. three weeks of magic, sand, books, david bowie and messy dorms.

*performed at the lancaster poetry café in 2017, autumn. having people tell me i’ve moved them to tears is magical and it’s something i’ve never dared to hope for and it’s something i’ll never take for granted. thank you 

1st of January, 2016

Dear A,

Happy one month anniversary, my grief, my love.

You’ve been good, you’ve been still.

I’ve been spending my evenings writing scattered letters to you.

I roughly choke on paper as I burn

with sore pain. I miss you.

Dear A,

It’s been one month,

I feel dispatched.

I think it’s fair to say that you broke my brain.

I’ve been mulling over you since December.

Dear A,

I can’t help

but feel angered,

I am shamed.

I sweat self-loathe

each time I

desperately

and

obsessively

drag my nails across my cheeks

and carve your name onto my forehead,

trying not to forget your face.

Dear A,

But I have.

I’ve started to forget

the curve of your neck,

your sharp teeth,

your hair,

your heavily edited psychedelic pictures,

your long poems,

the short story you wrote to me.

I gulp and write as much about you as I can,

so that no one will ever forget

your painful songs,

your whiny voice,

your sad words,

your drugs,

your self-hatred.

Dear A,

You were brilliant.

You were so good. I was sure you’d be the next Lou Reed – so fresh, so wild, so pearly, so beautiful.

I thought you’d love me,

and then leave me,

and I’d spend my life watching you recite your lines in movies,

or looking at your face, plastered on shiny new books,

and I would lull to myself:

remember me, when you’re the one who’s silver screened, remember me when you’re the one you’ve always dreamed. remember me, when everyone’s noses start to bleed. remember me, special needs

Dear A,

You were candy in my mouth

until you smashed my teeth from the inside,

as my heart ashed on the 1st of December.

dear a, 1
lancaster poetry café
dear a, 2
st andrews