Some poetries
I wanted to write to let go and create what was happening in my head.
Sometimes I question what is worth sharing. Is vulnerability a weakness, or a way to connect?
I write anyway — not because I have answers, but because honesty creates a space for recognition.
Dear Failure
When is the next time I fail?
Show me the way to fail again. Fail, fail, fail—
I want to make mistakes, to wander through another soul. T
each me how to fail.
I am so ready.
Make me fail a thousand times,
until I know how to do it myself,
how to allow it,
how to accept it,
how to stop blaming only myself ,
how to overcome.
Make me fail
so I never forget
how it feels to be alive for something.
Give me mistakes
until I know what is meant for me.
There is no fire,
no light that I can run to.
So turn on the fire.
Dear Failure,
you're my hope.
You remind me
how strong I really am
every time I fall
with my face in the dirt.
So let me get dirty.
Let me walk through it
with happiness,
with sadness,
with love,
with despair,
with anger,
with passion,
with laughter.
When is my next failure?
Because one day
I'll keep walking
without fear anymore.
Failure made me gentle with myself.
Two years ago
I would never have treated you this way.
I'm sorry
for everything I did to myself.
It's okay.
It's okay.
I keep going.
Until I die,
I keep creating,
I keep making,
I keep reaching,
I keep touching people
with everything I have.
I walk through pain.
I walk through mistakes.
Because they remind me
of who I once was
and who I am becoming.
I am never lost anymore.
Mistakes became the light.
I'm okay,
even though for so long
I believed making mistakes was wrong.
Teach me what I love,
even if I'm terrible at it.
You showed me
it was—
and always will be—
worth it.
You taught me
that expecting something in return
slowly destroys every dream,
the smallest one,
the biggest one.
So continue anyway.
Make your soul dirty.
Break your heart
a hundred times if you must.
Fall.
Because every time you stand again,
every scar,
every thread,
every piece you leave behind
remembers every step you took
to become the person you are now.
Imagine how beautiful
it all becomes
before it ends.
Don't wait.
Just make
what makes your wood burn,
what keeps the fire alive,
what keeps the warmth
inside your heart.
So when the next failure comes,
I'll open the door.
I'll welcome it home.
Because every fall
is another beginning,
and every beginning
teaches me
how to live.
„Kein Ort"
Ich renne von dort nach dort .
Doch finde keinen Ort.
Kein Ankommen, nur Bewegung kein Zuhause, nur Bedeutung, die ich suche und nicht finde Ich sitze mitten im Hörsaal zwischen Stimmen, zwischen Leben doch alles in mir schreit leise: du bist hier falsch
Ich steh im kreativen Prozess mit leeren Händen voller Ideen doch nichts in mir schlägt Wurzeln
Alles bleibt Oberfläche
Ihr sagt: „Ich sehe dich"
Doch ich fühle mich unsichtbar
Wie soll mich jemand sehen wenn ich selbst nicht weiß wie ich mich zeige
Vielleicht war alles, was ich gab nie nur Leidenschaft sondern ein Versuch die Leere zu überdecken die kein Applaus füllen kann
Ich hab gebaut geschrieben, gedacht, erschaffen in der Hoffnung, dass mich etwas davon hält doch ich fiel durch alles hindurch
Und jedes „Ich bin für dich da" fühlt sich an wie ein Stich weil ich spüre
wie wenig ich bei mir selbst bin
Vielleicht gebe ich so viel weil ich keinen Ort finde es mir selbst zu geben
Ich bin wie ein Haus voll mit Möbeln
voll mit Möglichkeiten
voll mit Leben
Doch ohne Raum in dem ich sie hinstellen kann
kein Fundament
kein Boden, der mich trägt
nur Wände die ich selbst nicht betreten kann
Ich dachte Zuhause findet mich in dem, was ich tue doch ich habe mich verloren in dem Versuch mich darin zu finden
The Roots of Humanity
Nothing exists alone.
Not a thought. Not a breath. Not a moment in time.
Everything moves in relation,
a silent conversation, a shared vibration.
The moment when meaning breaks its linear form
and reveals the invisible threads that connect us all.
Every self is a reflection
of countless others we may never see,
a constellation of memories, struggles, and dreams
that shape who we become.
There is no isolated human,
only intersecting presences,
moving through one another
like invisible signals of existence.
To forget the other
is to lose a part of yourself.
To recognize the other
is to return
to humanity,
to connection,
to the roots of who we are.
