It’s not just red

Doll of Vasilisa the Beautiful

“Every day, the stepmother sent Vasilisa into the forest, but the girl always returned safe and sound with the guidance of her magic doll.”

Again

I am running out of ways
describing how I feel
I am running out of ways
I could explain myself

So now
I hide

I’m not coming out
I’m not

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Daisy

“And I hope she’ll be a fool — that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

(The Great Gatsby)

Protected: Throwing a bone

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Tiger

For you my love
I’d leave everything…

My friends say
Look at him, what are you thinking??
Find one from our own…
What do they mean?
Deep down I feel we belong to the same family

They say I’m just domestic,
Not fit for jungle
Will miss my satin pillows…
What do they mean?
I’m always gonna sleep on top of you, warm
Secure from the whole world

They say you are rough,
That you don’t understand like us,
One day your anger or hunger will finish me off…
What do they mean?

They don’t understand that 

I don’t mind…

With love,
Kitty

Peel

Don’t ask me about my tattoos

Sometimes hardest is to define our own motives, specially of past.

“Don’t ask me about my tattoos” is one of them. When asked by someone, it’s easy to relate to the meaning. But is that it?

Some ask why hurt yourself?  Or Why so permanent? My granny asked whether I was going insane.

For me it’s not just the tattoo or simply what it means. It represents the day, the year, the different person I was back then, how I waited  impatiently for it to heal, innocent happiness I felt, with whom I was in love with…

You will ask me and I will tell it’s the symbol of freedom. But freedom is not the  sole reason I cherished it all these years… Are people capable of having clear cut reasons for the tattoos they get or things they do?

I remember the day I got my first tattoo. Anxious in a good way… Butterflies in my stomach… for two reasons.

First- my first tattoo

Second- I was there with a friend of mine, a friend that made my heart beat faster at a time I was far too stubborn and shy to accept I am capable of something called love.

I remember how he held my hand while I’m cringing from tiny tinglings of pain… I remember his eyes on me… And how I thanked him afterwards for being such a good friend and how he smiled at my eyes silently making them want to look at my feet…

Now, years and years gone by

whenever I come across that tattoo

I feel it as gold. I run my hand across it and remember his smile…

I feel golden

But I am not going to tell you that. I will be telling “It is the symbol of freedom”…