If you look at me, please see me. If you see me for the person that I am, please love me.
If you listen to me, please hear me. If you hear my words, please understand them.
If you want me, don’t hold back. If you don’t hold back, I will be all yours.
This is actually no fiction. This is all me in my most vulnerable state. I am afraid to be invisible, invaluable, used…
Hold my soul for just a little while
Hold my body for a moment longer.
Take me into a tight embrace until the fragments of me aren’t blown in the wind.
Too many thoughts
Too many unshed tears
Too much silence.
Maybe it would be easier to disappear.
A breeze in her hair
A thought in her dream
An undescribable feeling
As if her soul is touched from within.
The night is painted with colours
The rain washed over her and dried.
And as the sun warms her skin
She feels his presence as
A breeze in her hair.
A breeze in the cold night’s air.
There is nothing dark.
We are each other’s light.
There is nothing taboo.
We are consenting.
There is nothing off limits
We are willing to push our boundaries.
There is nothing unattainable
We are carrying each other on our journey
There is nothing to worry about
We feel each other when we are not there.
There is nothing wrong.
Everything about us is right.
There is nothing dark.
You are my light. I am yours.
Sing a song for me. Write a song about me. Remember what we had and preserve it for eternity.
Hidden in your mind, I’ll stay. For no one to see. For no one to know.
Feel me in your soul. I’ll stay there. A memory. For no one to see. For us to know.
I wander through the night. Awake while the world is asleep. For no one to see. For you to know.
It’s all in the way you made me feel.
Release your grip from my heart
You’re crushing me
Not stopping until I fall apart.
Release your power over me
I’m not a puppet on a string
I can’t find happiness on my knees.
Release me. Release me. Release me.
Set me free.
I work in a job where we are sent to trainings twice a year. Today I spent an entire day in training. We were a group of sixteen strangers. The training was about self-conception, our effect on the parents, and the use of verbal and nonverbal communication.
One exercise this morning was very uplifting. A stranger sat across from us. Facing one another, the stranger had one minute to compliment me. This was done twice. So… I had two minutes of compliments today and also gave two minutes of compliments.
Here are some things these strangers said to me which left an impact (or got me thinking). One man and one woman made these statements.
- There is something mysterious about you
- Very open and welcoming
- Bright smile
- Beautiful eyes
- Curvy (yes… That too was meant to be a compliment)
- I feel safe and accepted just sitting face to face with you
- Very high tolerance for everyone, regardless of gender or anything else
- Available to your friends
- We could talk for hours on end if we met for a drink
- At ease with yourself
- There for your friends
- You seem to be a person with a positive attitude who can find a solution to every problem
- Would love to work with you
- Beautiful when you smile
These are the ones I remember. The ‘you’ is me, of course. These things were said to me by people who I had never met before. It’s incredible how uplifting this exercise was. And, I recognise myself in the things they said, too.
I do want to add though: what is mysterious about me? Can anyone explain this to me? I’ve been told this more than once and I don’t know what to make of it.
Also, try to pay compliments to a stranger for an entire minute. It’s long…
Anyway, this made my day and I wanted to share.
Getting rid of the long hair was a big deal for me. 40cm (16inch) were cut. I always looked young. I look even younger now. Quite weird actually. This change of hairstyle happened spontaneously (on a whim) and after many years of being proud of my long hair.
While my kids aren’t fans of the short do (my daughter cried!!), I honestly love it and most people seem to like it too. (Or they are just being polite.)
I can’t really put into words how this feels. But I am happy 🙂
First one for a book called Whispers of Hope:
It is an ongoing collection of poetry.
It’s a book callen Burnt Wood
Short pieces of poetry, thoughts and flash fiction can be read here. Once in a while a piece of music is added to a particular piece… I hope you listen to them and find something new that you’ll like 🙂
I hope you enjoy them,
Thank you and have a great week
To everyone seeing and reading this, Thank You.
I took a look at the stats of this blog just a few moments ago. This blog has the best year since it was created in 2012. It has the most visitors from different countries, the most shares, and the most comments and likes. It’s amazing. I like it. Maybe a bit too much.
I have been updating regularly this month. Daily, actually. I have been tagging my posts, too. Something I only started doing recently. It is nice to know that people read what I write if it is visible.
It is nice to know that people take time out of their busy lives to spend it with my words. After all, time is a precious and finite resource. And you will never get it back. I cannot repay you.
So, yes, Thank You, from the bottom of my heart 💓
But not broken
But not bleeding
But not smiling
But not crying
But not speaking
But not hiding
But not them
But not there
But not inside
But filled with emotions
But not sleeping
But full of passion
But not when you are there.
I can’t because this is real and I am not asleep.
He lay on his back and stared at the sky. A glittering veil was covering the black. The moon was shining brightly; not whole yet. He felt the same, not whole. He had met his twin flame. He had loved her; made love to her. And then, then he had pushed her away. Dealing with those emotions was too complicated. And he was not a complicated man. He just knew that being with her felt like destroying himself. Being without her felt like missing a part of his soul. Her presence scared him. Almost as much as the knowledge that the sky is infinite and time is finite. He couldn’t admit that he was running away from her. It was easier to manipulate her into thinking that she was pushing him away. The truth was, he was missing her. He was missing the way she made his soul lighter and his thoughts less heavy. He missed how she inspired his work, and the sex. Yes, he missed how it felt to fill her out. He had had many girls and women in his life. They had never felt like her on his skin. Her kisses were like magic, her orgasms were bliss, his own release couldn’t be compared to anything he had ever experienced in bed. An intimacy that spread onto many levels connected them. From the moment they had first spoken, something had clicked. Profoundly. And now he was running away. He had an ugly soul, an empty heart, heavy thoughts. Others had described him that way. And he couldn’t deny it. But she didn’t care. She seemed to like all the facets of him. The good and the bad. And he was not prepared for that. He was not prepared to open himself to her, to let her see who he was. Who he is. Bare. Nowhere to hide his imperfections. He had always wanted to be seen, and to be able to be himself without getting strange looks. Now that he had met someone comfortable and sure enough of themselves to accept him for who he was, and he couldn’t handle it.
He slapped the grass next to him in frustration. Since when was he such a coward? Since when was he lamenting to have no one to love him, knowing full well that she was there. Was he so used to being hurt and rejected that being wanted and accepted scared him? That woman. She was addictive. Always on his mind. There was that fear of going back to her and letting her see his vulnerable side. There was that irrational panic that she could use it against him.
Until now, she never had. She had proven that she was trustworthy. He hated how much she completed him. He loved it too.
A raindrop landed on his forehead breaking his thoughts. From the porch his wife called him to get out of the rain, and go inside. He grunted a response and got off the lawn just in time, before the light dribble became a rainstorm. Minutes ago he had stared at the clear night sky. He had been sunken so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the clouds hiding the stars. Standing on the porch, he kept looking into the dark. She was his dark. Behind him, his wife was standing with a dishtowel. She was beautiful. He loved her. But she didn’t understand. She was not the one to fill that empty space in his heart. She was not the one who knew every secret, nothing withheld. But she was enough. She had to be. He took a quick look at his phone. He had no messages but he liked to see and know that she was online. Her profile picture was beautiful. For the moment, it was all he got from her. It was all he deserved. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Even if it meant leaving the safety of his family. After all, She was the one. His twin flame.
I am a music enthusiast. Not really a connoisseur, though, but I like music and I like listening to it. I own lots and lots of CDs, I mentioned that a couple of times before. I also “own” (paid for) a couple of digital albums. Most often, I do that on this site: https://bandcamp.com/micqu1 Take a peek if you are interested.
I write a lot. It’s not always poetry or novels or flash fiction, but I write down thoughts, little notes or words. And I write daily. I use fountain pens and journals. My handwriting is horrible. I really need to focus to write nicely. It’s a challenge in my job too, lol. Yes, I have been told to try and clean my handwriting. I try, but honestly (and this sounds not nice at all) I can’t be bothered. And I don’t have the time either.
Once in a while I share a pic of an entry in my journal. I like doing that. It gives the entries something real, something deep. I have been told so, many times.
I go through many journals and wrote the last page in one just yesterday. I started that one in February. This morning I bought a new one. It is a weird feeling to write a last page in a journal, and it is a weird feeling to write the first page in a new journal. In my mind, I don’t want to soil the blank pages with nonsense. Usually, my notebooks are blunt and no-descript. Black. I like them to be closable too, preferably with an elastic band. Today, I found another one that reminded me of my youth and is over all quite me. It has James Dean on the cover. I like James Dean a lot. I read a couple of his biographies, saw all his movies, and we share a birthday. And it was not too expensive either. It is thin though… I am sure I need to get another one by Christmas.
People laugh (or smirk) when I unpack my journal and my fountain pens. I own many fountain pens in different styles and colours. I like how they all write differently and I like how the ink flows on to the paper. Writing is fun. Or so I think.
Old and new journal.
So yes… If you are looking for a gift for me… Fountain pens and journals are a good idea.
Do you write by hand? What do you use? Are your posts written down first in a journal? Mine are not, sometimes I write a spontaneous poem here (or on Wattpad) and copy it later into my journal 🙂
Autumn is my favourite season. Just look at these colours.
My favourite pic of myself in my teenage years. This pic was taken when I was 19 and on vacation in Brittany. 🙂
Another six week until we meet again. Am I allowed to admit that I am scared shitless? What if you don’t like me anymore? And what if we will not meet in the end? Gosh… We haven’t spoken in weeks. How are we supposed to be able to see each other face to face. With our past standing between us? I am not the woman you think I am. I need your encouragement to see this through. You’ll be 45 in two weeks. You are a man who saw the world and lived two lives. Me, I am 24 and inexperienced in most parts of life. I don’t want to blame my past, but if you grow up the way I did… Ha… Who cares? Not you. Yeah… Those words hurt. You should care. You really should. It’s me we’re talking about. The one you’ll let slip through your fingers. And you will regret it for the rest of your life. I don’t want your love. I just want you to see me, the way I see you. I see through your bullshit although I am not visible at the moment for you. It’s my own choice. Fear and hope. Please forget me. Please don’t ever forget me. Six weeks. I want to put my nose against your neck and feel your breath against my skin. Your eyes on me. Your words, just for me. We are cowards. We will stand in the same room, wondering if the other is there or if the other is thinking about us, but we will not get in touch. We will lose the opportunity. Maybe the only one we’ve got. One chance. And the way I know us, we will blow it. Or maybe that’s just me, yeah, maybe that’s just me.
Where are you now? I haven’t seen nor heard anything from you in such a long time. Please be okay. Please don’t disappear on me. Please don’t forget me.
As long as there is cum in my balls and a mind in my brain, I will never forget you.
Still the most romantic thing I was ever told. I wish it was true.
Dear stranger, six more weeks. Do something. Court me. I will be yours, there’s no doubt about it. You just have to want me again. Please want me.
Gosh… I am pathetic, pleading and begging…
I will never send this letter your way. Doesn’t mean that I am not thinking these things.
Oh and in case you were wondering. I am well. Thank you for asking.
Lots of love,
The best part of a poem I wrote tonight 🙂
I am on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/micqu_1/
I am on Twitter too: @micqu1
And… If you like my writing and want more: https://www.wattpad.com/CatherineMicqu
See you there, right?
I am not big on promoting myself or my writing. But once in a while I want to invite you to see more of me… Welcome to my world.
So, a nice man was paying me compliments for this picture. First he asked if it was an old picture, then he said that ‘No, it can’t be, it takes years to become this beautiful’. I admit, it worked. I blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.
Besides, I would not share a picture of myself that I don’t like. I like my eyes on this one, and my hair. The shadow on my face (from the rearview mirror) is annoying though. Just felt like sharing a picture of me again.
This is the same person who fell asleep while watching a movie for the first time tonight. Which movie, you ask? Logan. Yep… I slept through Logan, then I dragged myself to the bathroom and to bed in a semi-asleep state. And now I am wide awake. That’s me.
Fear. I don’t know fear. I never have. I am not able to feel fear. Well, maybe I am, but I am not allowed to. Fear lets one make mistakes and mistakes are deadly. Fear. I am afraid to feel it. To be paralyzed by it. To let it rule me. But here I am and I feel it creeping up my spine and spreading on my neck. Sweat is forming on my forehead, my view becomes blurry. I cannot afford to lose my senses, but here I am; blind, deaf, mute. I cannot see because sweat is constantly running in my eyes and I can’t wipe it away or make it stop. I cannot hear because the pounding of my own pulse is the only noise in my head. My blood and my thoughts. The rest of the world is silent. I am silent too. I am silent. Deaf. Mute. Nobody knows that I am alive. Nobody knows that I ever existed. Fear. I was never able to feel fear. Now I do. I made mistakes. They paralyzed me. Fear. I don’t know fear. I am fear. I am ruled by it. Fuck fear. Fuck anxiety. I just want to hear, to breathe, to speak. I want to be me. Fuck fear…
Inside this grey and black vessel is a lot of colour
I tend to forget it’s there, but it is bursting out the cracks
I am a rainbow hidden in a cloud
Let me rain
Let me shine
Let me show you who I really am.
I cover your black with my colour
And paint your night away
Until I used it all and I am back to my usual grey.
Share your colour with me
Make it rain
Make me shine
And show them who I really am.
We will paint the grey away;