He is not beside you

So many tears…
with nothing left to wash away.
Nobody wants them,
my tears –
but I cannot carry them anymore.

It hurts too much.
I don’t want to wake up anymore.
Not alone, without you,
to give you my tears.

I woke up –
and my first thought was:
it’s not worth it. He is not beside you.

Alenka H., 2000-2010, translation

One day

Beneath all the ashes
there’s still spark of life.

My water is burning
in hidden depths.

I allowed suffocation
again and again.

It is time that I rise,
that I fly and I dare.

Perhaps not today.
Maybe not even tomorrow.
But one day. One day.

Alenka H., 2023

One night

For one more night
I’ll dare to hope.
I brake the chains
I wrapped around my heart
and I’ll let it sing and dance
and wish and dream.
For one more night
I’ll allow it to hope.
To believe in the magic
and miracles and joy.
For one more night
I’ll let it fly
free and young and healed again.

Just for one night.

Alenka H., 2022

Sharp (s)words

Words can heal and words can kill. Sometimes its easy to see if a word is a weapon or a cure. But some words seem so innocent, yet cut so deep.
One of those is “nothing.” Painful emptiness and cold. It’s just nothing.

Alenka H., 2023

If

My poems are tears,
my poems are cries.

My poems are prayers,
my poems are pain.

My poems are me begging for help,
my poems are me asking to be heard.

If anyone would read them, they’d know.

Alenka H., 2022

Body, Soul

You offered your body,
but I wanted your soul.
I wanted the flesh and the blood
and scent of your mind.
I wanted to taste all your dreams
and to swallow your fears.

So I’ll take your body,
and I’ll steal your soul
to feed mine with it.

Alenka H., 2022

Puzzle

I think people are like puzzle.

We have many pieces.

Some pieces are not perfect. Some are even not kind. Some are not pretty. Some are plain. Some are not interesting. Some contradict others.

We share some of our pieces to some people, some to others. Some we show to many, some to nobody, some we even try to hide from ourselves.

What everyone deserves is a person who sees, acknowledges and accepts all our pieces. Not like – because not our pieces are really likeable, we are not perfect. And not all our pieces appeal to anyone. They don’t have to. The point is not that someone should love or like all of them – just acknowledge and accept them.

I remember the time when I excitedly tried to share some news about how I spent my weekend. He said “You know, I’m not interested in this, really.” I looked at him and said “Well, I don’t like football either. Not even a little. I’m not interested in it. I don’t care about it. Still, I sat with you while you watched it. I asked you how it was when I knew there was a match that interested you. I listened to you, when you told me about it. Not because it would matter to me. But because it matters to you.”

Everyone should have someone who would be prepared to at least see all the pieces that makes them Them. That’s what loving someone means.

Alenka H., 2022

Too gentle

Sometimes I lay on my side
and with open eyes
I make up your fingers
touching my hair.
I like to imagine
you are so gentle
and that that is the reason
why I don’t feel it.
That maybe you’re there,
silent, behind me,
with me…
Just so so gentle.
Too gentle.
I don’t close my eyes,
because that’s when tears start to fall.

Alenka H., 2021

For you

For you, my love,
I’d make roses bloom
and sent their scent to you.
For you, my love,
I’d make the sun shine
and send it’s warmth to you.
For you, my love,
I’d create universes
and destroy worlds.
I’d make rivers stop flowing
and I’d move oceans.
I’d fight armies
and I’d heal dead men.
I’d bring you sugar
and make light.
I’d never leave you
and there isn’t anyone
that would be more faithful.

But, my love,
If you deny me, desert me,
I’ll be yours never again,
and my soul will leave,
even if my body cannot.
I’ll release my heart
and it will never come back.

I’ll die for you
whenever it takes,
but I’ll die because of you
only once.

Alenka H., 2021

Snowflakes are gently kissing

Snowflakes are gently kissing my skin,
warm and awaiting your touch.
You said you will give me whole life,
now I must face this winter alone…
I’m lying here and waiting for the snow
to warm up my bruised heart,
to cover and heal all my wounds,
to fill my holes and my cuts.
My tears will become little diamonds,
emotions, frozen in time.
In long night’s cold caress I will sleep
and wait for the spring to return.
When birds will come back from the south,
I’ll ask them to guide me away.

Alenka H., 2021

Finding your voice

When I was younger, I was often told I’m too loud – vocal, expressive, not afraid to say what I think, stand behind my words. Speak up. Sometimes that was a compliment, not being afraid to speak up. Many times it was not. I’ve learned one of my toxic traits (oh, how fancy that sounds!) is feeling guilty. So yes, I felt guilty for “being loud”. For expressing myself. For talking to people. For laughing loud. For yelling. For speaking…

I tried to learn to keep my mouth shut. Ah. Never learned that too well…

When I lost my voice, I wondered… I wondered if it was because I spoke too much. That didn’t last long. More and more I wondered if I lost it because my voice, my words, my thoughts didn’t matter at all. Because now I was (often, in my opinion, of course) silenced. Interrupted. In the beginning, it didn’t bother me much. It was very hard to speak. So when I didn’t have to, I was relieved. But that relief was short, because even when I did want to speak, I didn’t have the opportunity. I was cut short, shut up. People around me tried to speak instead of me – yes, I understood they wanted to help, but even when I told them I want them to wait for me to say what I want to say (and not what they assumed I wanted to say), they just got used to interrupting me.

The more that bothered me, the more I wondered… Was me losing my voice a sign that I don’t need it? That it doesn’t matter what, or even if, I speak at all? That I should just shut up?

It’s never simple, is it. When we start wondering about ourselves, our lives, the lessons we learn and those we don’t, things that happen, the meaning, or the lack of it… For me that usually ends in being torn between blaming myself and being angry. Is it the punishment I should accept? Or is it something I should fight? Do I have to stay quiet, or demand to be heard?

I might be one of those that lost (part) of their voice. But I’m surely not the only that wants to be heard and at some point (or points…) was not.

It was just lately that I started realizing, really understanding, not just knowing, that being listened to is not just about being allowed to voice your opinion. It’s about being allowed to be. To express. To be a being that is living, thinking, feeling, and expressing that experience. That being listened to when you have something to say means that not only your words matter, but YOU as a person matter.

I was told “stop”. And I reacted with my whole being. Because not long before that I was asked a question and then quieted after a word. Suddenly I felt as if my existence is in a way “disqualified” just because I was silenced. Even if I’ve known it, I never really understood how significant it is if I am silenced. Or if I am not silenced, but my words have no effect. All those moments when what I said, made clear, didn’t make any difference, didn’t have any effect, was not respected.

It all came to one clear thought: If my words don’t matter, I don’t matter.

And I have to matter, firstly to myself. Can I make others listen to me? No. Can I make them hear me? No. Can I force anyone to consider, appreciate, take into account what I said? No, of course not.

What I can do is know that if I matter, I will be listened to. I will be heard. Even if my voice is not loud. Even If I speak slowly. Even if I forget words and sometimes take a lot of time to remember them. Even if I have to take breaths between sentences (or in the middle of one). Even if I repeat things or get lost in the story.

And I can respect myself enough to know that if someone shows me my words don’t matter, then I don’t matter either. I deserve to matter. I deserve to speak, write, express myself. Nobody has to listen to me – but if someone appreciates me, they will appreciate what I want to tell them. I have to appreciate myself enough to acknowledge and appreciate people who listen. And not waste breath for those who don’t.

Alenka H., 2022

Everyone deserves

Sometimes I feel so hypocritical… I honestly believe everyone deserves second, third, tenth chance to be happy and loved. No matter how old they are, what happened, what they did and want to change, how damaged they are. I want to believe it’s possible. It’s happening. It can be. For everyone. Except me. I want to believe the same for myself, but I can’t.
We do that, don’t we?

Alenka H., 2021

All these stones

I am heavy from all these stones in my soul.
For some of them I barely know they were –
time, wind and tears transformed them into sand.
Others were overgrown by moss,
they unobtrusively became place for new blooms.
But the stone that you are…
I’m trying so hard not to see it, yet it glows so much.
I’m afraid I will drown.
I’m afraid even more that noone ever
will know what kind of jewel
inside me were
you.

Alenka H., 2000-2010, translation

But

“But.” So short, so ordinary, yet so powerful – and in most cases hurtful.

Compliment, followed by but – is it still compliment? Praise, followed by but? Expression of love, followed by but? Interest shown, followed by but?

One tiny word – one big change. Making it untrue, conditional, tainted, or all of above.

Alenka H., 2022

Abyss

I’m here, by your side.
Together.
But when you go to your abyss
I cannot go with you.
Sometimes because I have fallen too deep.
Sometimes because I’m to tired to descend.
But most times I’m not allowed to go by the guards
that you have put there.
They say I have no entry,
that you don’t want me.
That I could go in only if you’d guide me.
So I wait for you.
I’m sitting on the edge of precipice and look into darkness.
I’m wondering, if you are sitting on the bottom
and are looking into the light –
do you see me, waiting for you?
Each time you descend into darkness
I wonder if you will return back to me.

Alenka H., 2021

Do you dream of me?

Do you dream of me?
Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night
and wonder where I am?
Do you ever recall dreams
and wish you would still be there,
wish I would still love your body and soul,
wish you would still hold me?
Do you dream of me?

Alenka H., 2022