I want to open my mouth

and have only rainbows pour out

with that same breathless quality

with which nightmares tear the ground

Flowing from my ears at night

Wild-maned terrors, champing to bite,

Iron shod hooves tossing restlessly

while my own twisted feet make no sound

except their untangling, in bedsheets strangling

slowly, insidiously, ‘round my neck snaking

Fingers cold as death on my own shaking

straining for the nearest light, to put down

the shutters, the shudders of whatever horrors

metallic-tasting dreams and bruised lip murmurs

rustling threateningly, behind creaking floodgates

Cracked fingernails leaking ink, insistently loud

But because I will,

I open my mouth

and have only rainbows pour out




Floodgates | Yusra



What are you not telling anyone? .



I feel as though I am frequently guilty of this. Of simply rolling over and falling asleep, and ignoring some nagging unwellness that has been pestering me. But it scratches at you, making you increasingly restless, till it starts spilling over into the part of your life that you only ‘portray’. When the person you are is unwell, it’s only a matter or time before it starts leaking into the person you’re supposed to be.

For the sake of metaphor and stunted humor, let me say: we’re nothing more than giant bathtubs. If you don’t deal with how much is swirling in there, pretty soon it’ll be sweeping out from under the door and reaching the guests in the living room.

But it’s not about the guests at all. People who visit you don’t live with you- you live with you. We none of us take the time to recognize our existence as a little, self-contained biome that needs a little tending to flourish- and a little pruning. If the diseased parts and chipping fingernails don’t get trimmed regularly, you’re not going to be growing.

And that’s already too many house- and body part analogies, but I’m going to leave you (and myself) with one last one: this body and mind house each other. And in levels of intensity, each one of them needs your care.

Open those floodgates now and then, okay? I promise you, there will be a rainbow over all that you’ve bottled in, flowing out. ♥️





Day Seven: Some Mornings

They fall from the trees like

gold coins, these beams

filtering down

settling like dust with a whisper

on the ground

and the jackdaws voice their protest

outraged, shrilly



in this patch of sunlight

there is the warmth

of your arms around me

The softest kiss

a trace of heat

and all the hope,

the undeniable hope,

of every morning

I sit, cross legged

and let the light

set my hair on fire

All bronze knives and steel glints

red hot edges

being quenched in running water.

I sit, and I must think of you

Some Mornings


Day Seven of NaPoWriMo. 🙂 Tag me in your work! 😍

Day 3: Leviathans dans le ciel

Monsters, even in the skies. That white whale defeats me yet. .





Day 3 of NaPoWriMo. Oh, we’re doing this! ☀️




Your Cookie has been traveling. Spring greetings from Bonn, Germany. Who’s in the neighborhood? 🙃

Beauty Is A Strange Word


is a strange word

when you find it

when you stumble

across it

when you fall down and

scrape your knees

on it

and you laugh in realization

How strange it all is

and how beautiful 🌿




Do you see, why you are beautiful? .



It is because you can see it, too 🌿 .



Caution to the Wind

Just as I suddenly had reason to go, I found reason to come back.



I woke up apprehensive. Someone good has happened to me- and good things rarely happen to me. Fear of an occurrence with fear of its fading, so to speak. And then I found reassurance from the most unexpected of places- myself, from the past.


I’d written a fictional piece about a year ago, a sort of ‘if only’ about acceptance, flaws and damage and all. I packed the dismay of having being hurt next to the hope of being held and allowed to heal, wrote it down, and banished the dream from my head.


It became reality. And today, when I woke unsettled, it pulled back to the wishful thinking I’d put down that night, and pointed out as clear as day- this is now truth.


There is now someone who doesn’t care that you were hurt. And he will not, at least intentionally, every hurt you.


If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that cruelty is a choice we all always have.

In some manner of survival instinct, we have evolved the ability to hurt, to cause pain, to inflict indignity, even when it serves no discernible purpose, yet soothes some reptilian part of our mind that derives satisfaction from it. It could be as simple as being hungry and a little terse, to downright poison tongued, orchestrating cracks in people’s skin that deepen and harden into crevices through which they remain forever exposed to the elements.

And bare nerves seeking shelter… are cruel in self defense. It doesn’t stop.

Choose to not be cruel. Choose not to be unnecessarily cruel. Choose not to have the marks of your bad day or rotten mood be the point by which someone remembers their day. Choose not to be the reason someone looks back at a memory years later and realizes that you had chosen, in that moment, to be cruel.