Danai Psaradelli

The Tears 

How can the same words tell different stories? 

Is it the order they are written at? Is it the objects, the subjects? 

I would say it Is the eyes, for the words that have eyes. 

They are the eyes of the soul, the eyes of pain, the eyes of grief 

They are the tears that tear down a heart that was thought to be unbreakable 

They are the colors that paint what the words describe 

They are the colors that faint what the world can’t hide 

They are words to hear about stories not to conceal 

They are from people who are still trying to heal.  



Alone but still together 

They ran together 

But each of them was on their own 

They grew up in the same world 

But each of them got to know a different world 

They jumped over the same obstacles 

But each of them tripped on a different rock 

They sang the same song 

But each of them in a different rhythm 

They went for the same treasure 

But each of them looked for different gems 

They world saw them together 

But in reality they were all apart 



Think twice

Before was different: some things you think about twice when you shouldn’t have to

The neighbors got the package again

The elderly woman crossing the street stares into your eyes, do you help or distance

The bar asks for your id, he didn’t ask anyone younger than you in the line

You order coffee in perfect German, they respond in English,

A beautiful white morning ruined- Snow, huh, you’re probably not used to that eh? …

They checked the bus, it was you again, yes you still have a BVG ticket.

A man came out to you asking for help, a breath of fresh air, finally someone recognizes your belonging.

Then again, maybe it was the exact opposite, and an unexplained familiarity drew the African tourist to you.


in case you were wondering,

I’ve stopped thinking twice. I often choose not to think at all, after all, they do the overthinking in the house here.


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