Gone

I was most productive and creative while you walked next to me on my journey. You were that whisper that inspired me, the dream that haunted me. You were the determination that kept me going. And when you decided it was best for us to be apart, you became the essence of every poem I ever wrote. Your memory is fading and your voice is silent. My misery is less tormenting and my emotions less pronounced. Your soul is not entwined with mine anymore. Gone is my productive and creative streak.

A thousand lies

The more I think, the less I am

The more I love, the less I feel

The more I write, the less I know.

Whisper. Run. Slow.

All the flowers wilted

All the words lost their meaning

All the lives will fade.

Whisper. Run. Too late.

Nights turn into days

Friends turn into lovers

And we stop to remember.

Whisper. Run. Burning ember.

Throwback link

Throwback Link

I am happy. When I am happy, I am most often not inspired to write. My need to write often comes from a dark(er) place, hence the short writing notes lately and no new poetry at all. One of these days I will learn to channel the happiness and let it float into my writing.

I am sharing the above link, because it is still valid and quite coherent – for my standards. As you will notice, it has no likes and no comments, it was not tagged – that’s the reason for that. Feel free to explore the blog, there is a lot of content that has no tags but is worth your while.

I hope you are happy too.

Cathy

I thought about Jamie today with a smile. He used to be my best friend. This song always reminds me of him. (Jamie passed away in 2015)

Greed

Not a finger – I need the hand
Not the hand – I need the arm.

Not a country – I need the world
Not the world – I need the stars.

Not a minute – I need an hour
Not an hour – I need the day.

Everything – give me everything before I lose my mind.

Not a sentence – I need an paragraph
Not an paragraph – I need a book.

Not a whisper – I need a scream
Not a scream – I need a song.

Not a like – I need love
Not love – I need care.

Everything – give me everything before I lose my mind.

Not in love

No rush to see you leave. No desire to chain your needs to mine. I don’t intend to be your heart’s thief. But I’ll allow it, it will be fine. Too damaged to accept admiration. Too much grief to feel elation. Shy and confuse and happy at once; using two-thousand and sixty-five different fonts. A light had blinded me, and so I slid back into the dark. I wanted to see and allowed the first spark. I am not in love, just intrigued. I am waiting for the realisation that all of this was dreamed. It is not, I know for sure. And a tiny piece of my heart will from now on be yours.

My best friend H

I sit on this horrendously smelling couch. Again. This place. That smell. No matter how often I sit here, it never escapes me. It smells like piss and vomit and still, I return here. Every day. Sometimes more than once. Because my friend calls me. In front of me is a low table. The legs have been sawed off to make it this low. It’s full of crap. Mostly crap. Some things on the table are important. Very important. Worth a fortune and the owner’s bliss. My hand sweeps over the table, and I roam through the little foils and tiny bags to find what I am looking for. Most of them are empty. My hand is trembling. I need it. Soon. I feel like crawling out of my skin and tearing out my hair. I crave it! My legs start shaking, I can’t keep them still. It’s like they are dancing with my best friend but I am not invited. Not yet. My hands become more desperate and less precise. A prick on my finger. I don’t care where it came from. I need it!! I leave a little trail of blood red drops on the table, decorating everything in a morbid manner. But I don’t care, and I know that nobody else will either. We all just care about one thing.

We are in this together, and we are looking for the same thing. And I found it. A precious little package. I empty it over a spoon, before holding the bent and used cutlery over a candle. Candles, the whole room is lit by candles. Candles everywhere. The only light in the otherwise dark room. The stuff takes too long to melt on the spoon, and I start fumbling with my free hand, to roll up my sleeve. I want to be ready when my friend is ready. Again, I rummage around the table and soon I find what else I have been looking for. A syringe. For a moment, I wonder if it’s the same one that stung me earlier and if it is clean. But my urge to get my fix lets me forget those thoughts. My need is bigger than the thought about preserving my health. I don’t go to the doctors anyway. I have no idea if I am infected or not. I don’t care. The others don’t care either. We share everything. We are in this together. Always looking for the same thing. Sharing the same best friend.

With trembling fingers, I fill the syringe. I need it. I need it now. No more time to waste.

My arm is ready. The vein sticking out, ready too. The needle enters my skin. I always do this softly, gently. I like the feeling of the metal breaking my skin. A gentle penetration. At first, my skin resists, but then it gives in, losing the fight, and the cold needle quickly warms inside my vein. I push down, and the calming escape from reality enters my body. I feel it flowing through my veins. Spreading inside of me. It isn’t a stranger nor an unknown. It is my friend. I pull the syringe out and throw it on the table. Not caring anymore. I found bliss.

My friend makes me tired. Always so tired, and he takes me to a dreamland. He helps me escape the grotesque face of reality. I inhale deeply and let myself float on a cloud of cotton. High and higher, I am rising up in the sky. I can see down and look at all those people that want to hurt me. They can’t reach me, here on my cotton cloud high in the sky. No evil can reach me. My friend is there to protect me. He engulfs me with his warmth, and I feel safe as long as he is with me. Better than sex. Much better than sex. They don’t satisfy me anyway. They – the johns. They get off, and I get the money to buy an orgasm of my own. One that always comes. Always. Except sometimes. Sometimes, my friend refuses to come to me to help me forget. Sometimes, instead of flying higher and higher up in the sky, he lets me fall, shoves me down the stairs hard. And it hurts. The deception always hurts. But it’s because he loves me and he wants me to be with him longer and more often. He is possessive, my friend. And I want him. Only him. Only me. Only us. Together, we can conquer the world.

Nobody else matters. Nothing else matters. When he lets me down, I fall deep. I am afraid without him. Scared to death without his warmth. It makes me cower in the corner of the dark unfurnished room. Far away, where no candlelight can reach me. I make myself as small as possible. Invisible. I cover my ears. I don’t want to hear the screams. Make them go away! I close my eyes. I don’t want to see those faces. Make them go away! I wish for someone to just hold me. Save me!

Leave me alone! I don’t need to be saved. Don’t touch me! I can’t have anyone touch me. I’ll break into tiny little pieces, like a glass that has fallen down and broke. And the shards will hurt and cut me deep.

Today, my friend didn’t let me fall. I open my eyes. I feel free. I feel good. I feel excited. I own the world. I see the zombies passed out around me. I am not one of them. My friend makes me invincible. I am not one of them. Not until the next time my friends calls me. Not until the next time I need him. My best friend H.

(Originally written and posted on this very blog in 2013 and edited quite subtly today. H obviously stands for Heroin)

Oh honey

I fumble with my words and stumble over my soul
Honey, without you, I am not whole.
But how am I supposed to tell you that
I don’t regret the day we met.
So many unexpected moments that we shared
So many things we never dared.
But honey, without you I am not whole.
My being becomes a black hole
As I forget who I was
And do what this woman does.
Just a missing piece is who you are
And I have been wishing upon a star;
But honey, don’t forget, without you I am not whole.

Time

Time is running out. The sandglass is emptying itself, but the time that slips through our fingers now can never be retrieved again.

We stand on the sidelines watching it happen. Listening to the paroles that have been ingrained in our souls, in our minds since we were helpless children.

I dare you to stand out and live your own life far away from the usual conventions. Far away from the judging looks of the self-proclaimed elite.

Who are they to tell me what should make me happy? And yet, we are all kept in line, silenced, living in invisible shackles.

I admire those who are free. Those who live. Those who are seen as misfits, dropouts, freaks, weirdos, punks, hippies…

I could never live that way, even if I wanted to. I’ve been brainwashed into living in shame. Hiding my true colors so that society keeps on loving me.

Since my earliest years, I tried to be a rebel. But I was only ever ridiculed. The latest target I make is playing at being a writer.

Ah, but it’s water under the bridge. At least that’s what I pretend. I am not fazed by their words. It’s a hopeless lie.

As time is running out and slips through my fingers, I understand that I am who I am and only I have the power to be me.

I live a life without regrets. I try too. I know that the past can’t change, but it shaped the person I am today. All of it.

I am not perfect, not flawless. I have qualities and I have quirks. Everyone has. Now I am working on becoming my friend again.

We should stop the self-sabotaging and the undiscerning following. If we can’t see things differently, we will grow old in our stink.

And we will wonder what life could have been if we had danced when we had the chance. What life would we have had if we had taken the time to live?

*Repost from July 20th 2015)

Quote 3/3

As long as there is a brain in my mind and cum in my balls, I will never forget you ~ anonymous

Welcome to the third and last quote of this challenge. I was nominated by the lovely Paul to share three quotes. I like Paul. Read his blog and you will know why I do. Go! Dive head first into some decent writing. And bring pizza. He likes pizza.

The Rules

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • Post a quote for 3 consecutive days (1 quote each day)
  • Nominate 3 new bloggers each day

Now, about my quote: it is crude and raw and raunchy. It lacks respect and at the same time, it promises the addressee to be remembered forever. Romantic. It is not a publicly known quote – it is something that was said to me a while ago; a lifetime ago, that’s why I consciously chose to keep the author of it private. Still, I love it so much, because it has meaning. Of course, it is not a quote you can share with everyone; some people might be disgusted or offended. (If you feel offended, then so be it. I will not apologise at this point in time.)

My last nominees for this challenge are:

Pulkit Awasthi

Kent Wayne

Duc Nguyen

I hope you enjoyed this. And for everyone who is disappointed that the quotes I chose were not as deep or touching as they expected them to be, I apologise. It has to do with a tired and detached mind.

Good night and see you soon. Thank you so much for your ongoing support. It means more than I can say.

xx

Three days – three quotes

The lovely Paul nominated me to take part in this. I am very excited. I have never been nominated for anything since I am here on WordPress. What do I do? Is my hair looking good? What if they don’t like me? But even if you don’t like me, I am sure you will like Paul’s blog. Go check it out. It is really amazing. I laugh and nod my head every time. And sometimes, I am even teaching some Luxembourgish in the comments.

The Rules for this “challenge”

  • Thank the person who nominated you
  • Post a quote for 3 consecutive days (1 quote each day)
  • Nominate 3 new bloggers each day

Someone is boring me, I think it is me. ~ Dylan Thomas

This was the first quote that came to my mind. Since I first read it, it has spoken to me. How do you feel about it?

Tomorrow, I will be back with a different quote – it will be by Groucho Marx.

Today, I nominate:

The Stories in Between

revolutionary musings

Jeff

Have fun. I’ll be back sooner than you might expect.

Cathy

Some days

Some days I wake up and can’t breathe

Some days I wake up and I can’t remember

Some days I wake up and I am full of you

Some days I wake up and there is nothing left

Some days I wake up and all is forgotten

Some days I wake up and I am free.

tbt May 2014

I.

I feel.

I feel small.

So very small.

Realizing, that no one was waiting for me and that I walk alone for most of my journey makes me sad. And just like that, my bubble bursts and I crash down. Hard. I am breaking. Inside. All the thoughts pour out of me and are scattered and shattered all over the floor. All over me. Like a blanket or a second skin… I try to sort through them. Understand. But I don’t. It is all in vain and it doesn’t matter any more.

Because no matter how hard I wish to be seen, I am not.

No matter how much I want to be loved, I am not.

At least that’s what I see. It’s dark where I am. I am in pain. Inside and outside. With thoughts and emotions strewn all around and over me.

I need you to tell me, that everything will be alright.

But you never do.

You never do.

Never do.

Do.

untitled-20180502

6:37 in the morning. Tears and shower water mingle. It hasn’t been this bad in a while. No way of getting her thoughts straight and too many responsibilities to rest. Nowhere to hide, just in plain sight. Getting dressed. One task done. Getting the kids ready for school. Another task done. Did not cry for an hour. Success. Husband didn’t notice – or hasn’t said anything. Success. Driving to work. Another task done. Working on autopilot. Smiling, singing. Out of body experience. She wishes she wasn’t there. Nowhere. No one notices. Success. She’s winning. Not this battle, not this fight. One task at a time.

Bicycle randomness

  • I never lived alone and on my own
  • I don’t like fruits, apart from raspberry
  • I work at a nursery and love my job a lot
  • Yesterday, a family member told me how unhappy I am. I was offended. I am not unhappy.
  • My kids are the best thing I ever created
  • I cannot stop writing
  • The woman who got me into serious writing and me, drifted apart. Recently we got back in touch and I love every moment of it because she is such an amazing human being
  • I am 35 and married with three kids. I don’t often mention this little fact
  • My depression was ridiculed by family members, that’s why I don’t talk about it anymore
  • Is a random fact still random when it is in an ordered list?
  • I am a messy person and hate to clean up
  • Sometimes, I am OCD
  • I am definitely overthinking and always looking ways to blame me
  • Autoaggression – it has many different faces
  • I am afraid people don’t like me
  • I try to be kind but I can be bitchy too
  • I like to brag about my music collection, but it is really eclectic. So much so that I bet you that you wouldn’t know half of the artists
  • I can’t be funny on purpose
  • I appear to be too serious, but I am not
  • My humour is dark, twisted, and very nasty
  • I am not as innocent as I may appear to be
  • When we moved house a couple of months ago, I found a hoodie an ex gave to me. My son is wearing it all the time now. I am not sure if that is a good thing
  • I am very tired all the time, but I can’t sleep
  • Don’t send roses and don’t save the last dance for me – I don’t care about these things. I am not a romantic
  • I haven’t cried in a while.
  • I am emotional. And I care. Even about the wellbeing of the people who aren’t part of my journey anymore
  • The title of this post doesn’t make any sense at all
  • I am grateful that I am an open-minded person. I am learning a lot every day
  • I like to read
  • I love spinach and broccoli – I really do
  • I can’t believe my son is already 13
  • I stopped sharing as much on IG because three of my work colleagues followed me there and I don’t want them to see the very real me
  • I hate to censor myself
  • It’s an honour to see when people relate to my writing
  • I am a proud Luxembourger
  • I am a sleepyhead who believes in the power of dreams and reads her horoscope everyday. I don’t necessarily believe in it, and yet, I like to read it
  • In my need to be appreciated, I often agree to do things I don’t like
  • I can’t say “no” very well
  • Most times, I am a good person
  • I am not intelligent enough to read poetry. I often don’t understand it
  • Simple words. Short sentences. Lots of impact.
  • This blog has had more traffic in 2018 than in all the years before. And I love it.
  • I don’t have anything important to say
  • That doesn’t stop me from saying the unimportant things
  • I am good at giving advice – but I can’t follow any advice
  • There is a definite submissive streak in me, but I don’t like to give up control
  • I believe that there is a song for every situation
  • I have been using the username “micqu” since 2011. Before that, I was mysteria. Mysteria wasn’t mysterious at all and the name was taken on too many sites already. Micqu was borrowed from a friend who said that she wanted her first child to be called Miko. Catherine (which is my real birthname) was added when I published my first novel
  • I am an awful writer. I am an amazing writer
  • My favourite perfume is Jean-Paul Gaultier Classique pour femme
  • Cutting my long hair short was a very big deal for me
  • I haven’t seen my mom in 6 months. I haven’t seen my dad in 4 months. I haven’t seen my sister in 2 years. I am not attached to them. I often feel rootless.
  • If I didn’t write, I would be a better housekeeper
  • I am not patient in my private life, yet my patience is praised at work
  • I can only sleep on my stomach
  • I own two guitars but I can only play some basic chords
  • My kids are inheriting their love for music and books from me
  • I burnt my tongue tonight. I hate the feeling in my mouth
  • Tomorrow is labour day
  • This list is very selfish and not very informative
  • I am proud of you for having read this far
  • I am proud of me for not having given up on this thing (the blog, I mean)
  • Too much information
  • I like to look at interesting pieces of art
  • It’s 22:47
  • I know three people who have a birthday today
  • Thank you. Have a good morning; enjoy your day, and have an amazing night.
  • This is randomness 68 (if I counted right)
  • Inspired by @cappytalks Paul is way better at this than I am
  • (…) to be continuing

Thunderstorm

Sitting inside, looking outside. With a glass of wine. A thunderstorm is raging, mirroring my internal landscape. Beautiful. Dangerous. Unpredictable. For everyone, including me. And when the lighting strikes, emotions will explode and cover everyone within reach. Electricity. Lighting. You and me. Never forget.

How to mend a broken heart

Listening to your even breath

peaceful as it is

not revealing the tormented soul

underneath

if I could

I would

but tell me, how can I mend

your broken heart?

Your whispers sound like cries

searching for and exit

speaking of unseen hurt and a lost

love

if I could

I would

but tell me, how can I mend

your broken heart?

If I could

I would take your pain away

if I could I would make you mine to stay

through your tears

I recognize you

for years I waited for you

to hold you close

and if I could

I would

and now I know how to mend

your broken heart!

In 2013 I wrote a story called “A Long Journey to Love”. It was my first original novel and it is nowhere to be found anymore. For now. This poem was written exclusively for that story – from one character to the other. It’s one of the earliest posts on this blog too. Please enjoy.