Open your eyes.

A tiny poem.


You know me from school

The first time I met your new boyfriend 

You told him you know me from school.

I didn’t agree because I was only fourteen.

I couldn’t have known you at fourteen.

You argued, convinced I was fifteen.
I was fourteen when we met at school,

And I was fifteen when we first kissed.

I was sixteen that night on the beach,

And I was seventeen when I kept coming back

Even though I swore we were broken up.

I was eighteen when I discovered those long hours in your bed.

I was eighteen when they became my favourite.

I was eighteen when you said you loved me

And I was nineteen when I wrote it back.
But you never lied.

You do  know me from school.

Black Widow

Black Widow walks around the corner.
Bachelor spots Black Widow

Bachelor is up for danger.

Bachelor sees her body as public property

Black Widow’s screams are muffled by laughter.
Bachelor feels powerful.

Black Widow won’t let him take her.

Bachelor laughs.

Black Widow makes justice to her name.
Bloody knife in hand,

Black Widow hopes to never use it again .


Soft scars around her torso. Soft but dangerous, just like her.

Scars that cause other people’s pity.

Scars that show her strenght.

Scars that prove that worst has passed.

The storm inside her mind is calmer now; the beast is tamer. But even when you succesfully domesticate a lion, it can still roar louder than your whispers.

Still she doesn’t let it win. It can try, but she won’t let it harm her for long.

She doesn’t own it. She is not its master; if she aims to be, she is lost and dead.

Instead she faces it as a mutual. She realizes its nature and accepts it. But doesn’t surrender to it.

She becomes smarter than her demons and keeps them down until the next fight -because it sure as hell is going to be a next fight.

They will not win again. She got a taste of what that was like and decided it is no longer an option.

She will fight until the end because the battle is better than the alternative.

There will be the occasional truce, but the war won’t end.

So she gathers up her weapons and fights for her life.




He becomes a victim of Medusa

I gather my weapons

I am ready to fight anything but my demons.

It makes sense but it’s not goo enough

I survive but I can’t live

He’s still petrified when I need him the most.

-We will be good-