Category: poetry

Art and the artist

On Twitter, I follow an account called Fesshole. People can confess whatever they don’t dare sharing with people they know, anonymously. Tonight I read the following:

For backstory: the Lostprophets were a Welsh punk/rock band. Their music was really great. But their singer/songwriter – Ian Watkins – turned out to be a pedophile. He was convicted and sentenced to 29 years in prison. Rightfully so, as he showed no remorse and even blamed the women who let him touch their kids. I won’t go into details, you can find everything online if you search for the band or the singer.

As life turns, I own many of the bands albums, and I listened to them a lot for a while. After I heard about the singer’s criminal fantasies and energy, I felt sorry for the rest of the band. For years they made music and recorded albums. And really, some of their songs were awesome. It is all on Spotify, I think. And now there is one man who ruined the rest of these artists simply because they can be associated with him. They will always keep the label of the old band. “Oh so you were in Lostprophets. That’s the band with the pedophile. Sorry, we don’t want you as our bassist.”

But now I wonder, is it okay to listen to these songs knowing that one of the band members turned out to be a rapist and child molester? I mean, I would say “yes” it is okay: at the same time, I chose not to listen to any of their CDs ever since the news dropped.

Is there a way to separate the art from the artist?

I have been thinking about it for a couple of days now. I have been thinking about all the Welsh artists and bands in my collection, and they are plenty. The above tweet came as a coincidence tonight. Then again, I don’t believe in coincidences. It was the driving force to write this post; a post I have been thinking about writing for a while – in a different form.

As I stated above, I believe that one can separate the art from the artist, but… BUT does that only count if the artist turns out to be a narcissistic cunt? Am I a hypocrite for saying that I can deal with someone who is arrogant and conceited but not with a criminal? And there too: I watch Charlie Sheen on TV, listen to the odd Michael Jackson song… They dealt with similar accusations too, is it worse because Watkins was sentenced to a long time behind bars?

I believe in the good in people, that much is true.

But in this case, I am a mom of three, an educator working at a nursery with babies and toddlers, and I genuinely believe that every crime against a child deserves punishment.


I finished everything I ever started. Apart from life. That’s still going strong. (Torsten Sträter)

writing advice from my mentor

I just stumbled across a private message from 2016. I was unsure about a piece of writing because it seemed too raw, too real and too revealing. He replied with this

A word is still just a word, until it gets spoken out loud for everyone to hear. Then it becomes more. It comes alive. Let your words breathe. It will set you free.


What do you think? Are words a cage or do they bring freedom?

Cotton Candy Dreams (202)

Everything slows down. Time and thought. I was waiting for this. For the moment, my mind finally floats to other realms and leaves everything behind. It’s almost silent in my mind. The voices that usually can’t stop their chatter are an inaudible blur. Far away. In a cotton land. I am relaxed. My face is relaxed. And I grin. It’s not a smile. It feels like a grin. It probably looks like a grimace. But, who cares?! I need someone to care. I just want to be left alone for a moment. This fucking pain is just too much. Why can’t I just fly away? I want to enter dreamland. A safe space in my mind. The place where everything is possible. The place where everything is love. The place where my fantasy can exist. I remember an image from a movie I just saw. I want to reach out my hand, palm up, lift it to the sky and catch eternity. I am tired. My tongue is heavy. I don’t want to die. I just want to lay down and rest until the pain-tsunami washed over me. Let me go. Please don’t let me go. Good stuff. Float on cotton candy dreams.

About that last post

Last night, I shared what seems to be the start of something new. I know that words are missing, and explanations are missing. But, keep in mind that I wrote and hit publish. Nothing more. And I am thinking of writing more, but well, this might as well stay just the idea for something. I am not sure yet.

What mattered most to me in that moment was that I wrote. I haven’t written that many words of complete fiction in a long while. And it made me proud. So, anyway.

In bright daylight, I know that those 1800+ words need a lot of work. But I also know that it is a start. Maybe, finally, I will be able to write again.

Trust me: the moon knows

And we are dancing under the pale moonlight, forgetting the world. The wind whispers songs into our ears, and the grass caresses our naked feet. Your arms around my waist, my hands on your cold cheeks.

And we are dancing under the moonlight, to the silent melodies of our hearts in tune. The moment is magic, and the stars witness the meaning too. You are looking down at me, swaying my hips; I’m looking up at you, licking my lips.

And we are dancing under the moonlight, alone in a crowd: a smile, a kiss, and this inexplicable bliss—a memory tattooed onto my formerly blind mind. The sun pushes the moon away, making room for a new light.

In the blink of an eye, and with a swallowed exchange of breathing air, I realise that the darkness on my skin has left; it is gone. As if it had never been there.

Advertising Space

The following is a post I just shared on IG 💜❤💜❤💜

It’s Friday (I think). Let me tickle your memory for a moment. I am an author who published 5 books since 2018. And they are all ready to be devoured by your hungry minds. There are two options to get your hands on a copy of these masterpieces. Either on Amazon as paperback and ebook or from my blog (link in bio). If you buy your paperback from the blog, you can pay via PayPal, and your copy will be signed with a handwritten note from yours truly.
Every word in these books was written by me. And every cover picture was taken by me too. It’s a complete solo project, created with lots of passion and love. Never perfect, but always real. A lot like me.

Out of the Dark and Into the Light: a poetry collection. It’s a mostly fictitious journey through the year 2020.

A Life in Frames: short stories and flash fiction. In this book, I am trying to showcase my writing style.

Heart of Stone: a romantic novel

Drowning in a Sea of voices: a poetry collection

Unquiet Minds: a poetry collection. This was the first time I ever wrote my real name under my writing and I was a nervous wreck when I published it.

Throwback Poem

And my feathers were pulled from my wings “I am not well,” I thought the moment I was drawn into the wind
I was bleeding and crying and hurting and writhing in pain
But my saviour was gone. Discarded. Alone. Going insane.
I fell into the darkest, deepest waves
Lost all strength and will to be brave.
Breaking. Broken. Understanding still,
I lost my ability to fly – and once again, I bowed down to your will.
There was no way to come back from this despair
Love, it seems, is never fair.
And I wanted to yell and to beg for you to come back,
Until I realised, it doesn’t matter. I was damaged goods. A wreck.
No one will ever see the shining beauty I once was
Destroyed by too many lost battles. Covered in scars.
My feathers rained down on you and filled the ocean
And once again, I died in an explosion of emotion.

(2019. One of my better pieces, I believe)

The moon watches your sleep

The pale moon is tickling your every sleeping thought, kissing your eyes with dreams you once feared you forgot. Just one more touch that feels like the nimble fingers of a guitarist caressing his instrument. Just one more breathy kiss that keeps you alive through your life’s winter memories. Just one more… but the moon wakes up, and after a while, so do you.