Not a poet, but here’s a poem:

Amsterdam

by Danielle Ackermann

 

Meet me down the cobbled alley

tell your friends to come along.

Let’s dance and drink and light a smoke

to an old, familiar song.

 

My feet are aching tonight

in these secondhand leather boots Continue reading

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A writer with nothing to say.

I was in love with you, Writing. How embarrassing, admitting that we are strangers again. How embarrassing to admit that the way I boasted about you in public, the way I flaunted our intimacy to others – has come to this.

Crumpled up papers. Nothing.

We were lovers once and passionate words burnt in my throat like the hand rolled cigarettes I smoke to avoid you now. Like a passive aggressive teenager, I’ll avoid you when we walk pass each other in the street. I refuse to make eye contact, and when a close friend asks how you are doing, I avoid the question as if we never knew each other.

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A Step by Step Guide on Hitting Rock Bottom.

Guess what folks, everyone kinda feels like they don’t have any idea what they’re doing. In recent times of melodrama and existential crisis’s, I have decided to channel my inner Hannah Horvath from ‘Girls’.

A Total Fuck up (1)

I hear her unstable voice in the back of mind saying “I have work, then a dinner thing and then I am busy trying to figure out who I am”.

So – in an attempt to not sound like I am a mess of bad excuses here is a foolproof  guide to feeling a little bit better about where you’re at in life.

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Dear bedroom ceiling

IMG_20170710_090435.pngHi,

Sorry for staring, but I can’t sleep. You see, it’s not like you mean to, but honestly, sometimes I feel like you boomerang all my thoughts straight back to me. All my questions and inconclusive thoughts.

I’m not sending them off to you in the hopes of an answer, but rather to clear my head. Can’t you hold them for a while? Can you move around the boxes in the attic and find some space for them?

And if the attic is filled up to the brim with childhood memorabilia and forgotten furniture, amuse me why don’t you? Make a deal with the lightbulb and take all my nasty thoughts and turn them into a flickering movie I can watch untill I fall asleep. Turn my thoughts that have overstayed their visit in my mind into shadow figures that fly on your surface like trapeez artists. Instead of just lingering over me.
If you can’t do any of that dear ceiling, and you decide to be a passive piece in my midnight monologue, atleast make yourself transparent. Turn yourself into glass, so I can stare at the stars and the night sky and put my fears into beautiful perspective.

A letter of (un)motivation as to why you should pay me:

Suddenly, three years have passed by, like the countless nights that was set on fast forward by the double vodka lime’s. Now you’re here. In between your little pseudo adulthood, wrapped up neatly with a bow and the security blanket of mom and dad making sure you’re still okay – and the nitty gritty reality of the real world.

Now what?

I wish I had the answer – but instead, I will use my polished undergraduate humanities skills to try and romanticize my little existential crisis. If that doesn’t work, my next option is to deny the fact that I will ever have to face next year, and lastly, when next year hits me hard, like saturday morning hangovers, I will strongly consider becoming an academic and never leaving uni. – Sidenote: This would only be possible if I somehow manage to raise my class average to about 150% to balance out my neat, close cut 50’s from the last 3 years.

Another alternative, which is the one I am most drawn to (keeping the neo-colonialist teaching english abroad as a back up) is drawing up a letter to all future employers along with my CV (which will probably include me being class captain in 2nd grade).

It will read:

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Thanks Brain, you’re a dick.

The great thing about growing up is discovering all these different parts of yourself. I mean, basically any coming-of-age movie makes it clear that we’re all trying to ‘find ourselves’.

*spoiler – They find themselves.

*plot twist – I’ve never been very good at hide and seek.

So, whilst moving from one existential crisis to the next, we get to know ourselves, right? We start becoming familiar with our self in relation to the space we find ourselves in. The shitty thing is though – not all of our parts are nice. Not all of them want to be found, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t mind not-looking for them either.

One of the little discoveries I have recently made is the ease in which I fall into self-doubt. This little bugger, however, is not shy at all and it was never lost. It knows exactly where it can and can’t go and just does what it likes anyway. I never went looking for it, it’s just been around.

Now that I have (or at least tried) to acknowledge my little partner in crime, I am trying to distinguish between my actual flaws and the blatant lies my brain tells my body.

The most recent lie in the saga of my mind has been the reoccurring theme that, no one likes me, no one loves me, no one will come when I need them and as soon as I leave the room there is a basic unanimous sigh of relief from the universe in general that I am no longer paining anyone with my presence. Melodramatic, I know, but bare with me.

We start believing it, and as soon as it’s stuck, Mr. self-doubt feeds on everything and anything it sees. We start perpetuating it in the things around us.

*CUE THOUGHT* – “It’s been like 2hours, why hasn’t he/she replied, I probably did something dumb again, why are they mad, are they okay?” –

and then there’s the reality that they’re probably just busy dude. Chill.

Second-guessing and doubt will get you absolutely nowhere when it comes to the things you can’t control or the people around you. Also, I am pretty darn sure that if someone loves you – the petty things you worry about is not enough to make them up and leave.

Therefore, in order to keep my sanity – I am starting to be as kind to myself as I try to be to others. You are human, You are trying your best, you’re growing and constantly creating yourself. Breathe a bit and let the people around you prove the poo part of your brain wrong as much as they can – and people will, I promise.