I used to be a mathematician, meticulously counting every calorie. Food was my enemy, fat grease and regret in air tight plastic. Wrapped, labelled with nutritional facts I could quote from the top of my head. When these are the only things on your mind, appetite is a rare feeling you only experience once in a while. Your stomach growls and you try to calm the beast by dousing it in water, wishing it would drown.

But food doesn’t only make you fat, food kills, food destroys everything that’s beautiful. Murdering innocent creatures to fill our stomachs, torturing those without a voice. So I made the choice to no longer support cruelty, to never fund those industries who wreck our lands and cause poverty. To regain enjoyment in food I read books and found diets to suit my needs, to grow and live compassionately. I’m no longer afraid of food, my body powered on soy and legumes. The only calculations I now do are the amount of lives I save by being plant based. Life is beautiful when your stomach is a garden, not a grave.





When lips touch, the familiar tingle,
Eyes close and teeth have learned not to touch.

Kissing is a skill that has to be trained,
A waltz danced differently with every partner.

You pick your own path, translate desire into movement,
Do not forget to breathe.

But if air no longer fills your lungs, and you desperately gasp,
I hope I was the one taking it away.



Love myself

“Someday I will love myself” I said,
Unhappy with curves, spots and thighs,
Only focused on them in the mirror.

Fingers touched bone, confusing skin with fat and not finding any beauty,
Never thinking of myself as perfectly imperfect.
Slowly realising that everyone has flaws,
Stop thinking of yourself as different.

Your skin is smooth and pale, decorated with the occasional birthmark,
Like wrapping paper it holds a precious gift.
Appreciate it, stare at your reflection for a while.
And when it all sinks in, smile.
After all these years you did it,
You love yourself.




You pulled me from the river of your thoughts. Waves of creativity, they caused your head to burst.
You delivered me, cut open your head, birthed me from your brain. I was ready to face these lands you created, ready to fight your wars.stuttgart_athene_zeus

I only fought fair, with purpose. Never for selfish reasons, or glory. I was not like your sons. You never needed to protect me, wisdom was my weapon and calm demeanour my armour.
I am worthy of worship, for I am kind to those loyal to me. I bestow fortune upon those who turn their craft into art, those who weave their ideas into the cloth called life, I’ll embroider it with gold.

Father I am a leader, a helper and a seer. Compassionate companion of most of your creations, cities bear my name and tell my stories. Tales of bravery and honesty, of
my pure virtuous virginity. Of the gorgon, Heracles or the olive tree.
How I marked this land, claimed it, raised and embraced it. Maternal instincts making me Goddess of the city.

Father, you often don’t recognise, the strength your daughters possess and the input we provide. Instead of praising your sons, I beg you to gaze upon me.

Athena, your best idea.

Blogging – a reflection

This blog was an assignment for school, but I really enjoyed posting my poetry and short stories here. Since I want to become a writer, I’m going to continue blogging. It helped me improve my vocabulary and gave me enough inspiration to finally start on the book I’ve been wanting to write for ages.

  • What have you learned about becoming proficient in English by writing a blog?

I’ve learned working with writing prompts I found online, I learned more about poetry, I learned how to write a short story, I got to educate others through my blog by writing about queer topics such as pronouns and I’ve expanded my vocabulary.
I also learned how to receive and give feedback, since my classmates and I often asked each other to check our blogs.

  • How could you do this with your pupils?

To become more proficient at writing you have to write, a lot. By having them write every week you can figure out the mistakes they make (grammatical mistakes like the use of then/than for example) and give effective feedback on their work. You can also check whether they are improving or not.

I would give them writing prompts, because some people just aren’t writers and they need a little help. I would also give them a lot of variety such as: poetry, essays, letters, columns and short stories.  In my opinion this is the best way to become proficient at writing.

Beet salad

This restaurant was a place of perversion, or so he said. “Did you take look at the menu yet?” He nudged my arm and pointed at the list of main courses “They’re all vegan! Bio dynamic, gluten free! Is there anything edible here?” I rolled my eyes and sighed “Well you asked me on a date, and I got to pick the restaurant.” He fumbled with the napkin and gave me a cold stare “You could’ve picked something where they served meat, not just fancy rabbit food.” 

This is a typical date when you’re a lactose intolerant vegetarian. Especially if it’s their turn to pick a place to eat on the second date (if there is one, mind you). The “vegetarian friendly” facilities usually offer a veggie’s worst nightmare: The beet salad.

Dear beet salad,

So, we meet again. I have to be honest, I did not miss you. Chefs seem to adore you because you’re quick and cheap, you’re also anything but creative. Then again, it’s your versatility that makes you appealing to the average cook. You and goat cheese have been a thing for years, but people also like to douse you in vinegar and call it a day. Dear beet salad, you’re not worth the money. After a long week of school I do not want to invest in something so basic, I deserve more. I deserve black bean burgers, luxurious curries and pad Thai. This is what happens when I let a meat eater pick the setting for our first romantic encounter. You manage to ruin my day, you poor excuse for a fancy veggie feast.
Dear beet salad, you kale my vibe.

Henry Tudor (poem)

Henry Tudor, Number eight.
Broke the scales With his weight.
Henry also had 6 wives,
Let me tell you about their lives.
Henry first married Katherine of Aragon,
As his brother Arthur before him had done.
Poor old Kat got a girl, not what Henry wanted,
So he started his own church… Because a divorce couldn’t be granted.
Then came young Anne from the house of Boleyn,
And at first the King’s heart she did win.
But after daughter two his love did stop,
So he sent little Annie off to the chop.
The third was Jane Seymour, she was so pretty!
Young and blonde, and incredibly witty.
She did manage to give the king a male heir,
But died in childbirth, how unfair!
Anne of Cleeves was lucky number four,
Henry sent painter Holbein to her door.
But the portrait wasn’t realistic, “She looks like a horse!”
And so the king got his second divorce.
Kathryn Howard, Number five,
Would be Henry’s youngest wife.
The young girl flirted with many men,
She was sent to the tower just like her Cousin Anne.
Katherine Parr was the last one,
Took care of Henry and his daughters and son.
She stayed with the King until his death,
Remarried and celebrated , “I kept my head!”
This was the story of Henry the killer,
Not that romantic, it sounds like a thriller.
He died at age fifty five,
Best known as the fat king who couldn’t keep a wife.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words..

The first time someone called me ugly made me afraid of mirrors because all I could see was a monster. They called me fat and I lost my appetite, and calling me dumb stopped me from raising my hand in class.

Why apply make-up to something that’s already ugly, why eat when you already weigh too much and why even try your best at school when you’re dumb.

I lost friends because I had built a wall around myself. I didn’t enjoy drawing and writing anymore, and nothing made me laugh.

Hundreds of people commit suicide every year because of bullying, it’s not a laughing matter. Today I got insulted by a group of young boys, calling me hideous, making disappointed noises when I managed to sneak in front of a bus and the bus driver approaching me slammed on the brakes. “Aw what a shame, didn’t get hit by that bus, would’ve loved to see that.” Were their exact words.

People often try to give you advice; “They’re just teasing, ignore them!” Or “If you react you’ll only give them a reason to bully you.” They expect you to act like a punching bag, shove your emotions to the side, dissociate and “Be the stronger person!” But how can you be strong when there are people feeding their own ego by crushing yours? And how is wishing someone dead teasing?

I’m fortunate enough to have an amazing group of friends I can rely on, friends who showed me that I’m a beautiful creative intelligent human being. Friends who made me believe in myself. If this had happened a couple of years ago, those boys would’ve destroyed me.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can kill.


When the sheets on your bed turn in to walls, a protection barrier, but too heavy to crawl away from once it falls.

when your pillow has two sides, one on which you sleep and one on which you cry.

When getting up is a fight, when there’s too much anxiety during the night.

Then you know.

Things you used to enjoy being destroyed,  every last bit of hope thrown into the trash because depression would rather see you crash and burn.

You fight, you fight a war no one understands because “Yesterday you seemed alright! ” And “You should really snap out of it”.

And snapping you do.

When you finally pieced yourself together, prepare to watch yourself crumble.
Hide under your blankets. Cry in your pillow.

Picture prompt: Huginn&Muninn

“I fear for Huginn, that he might not come back, yet more anxious am I for Muninn.”

I’ve traded an eye for knowledge and sacrificed my body to gain wisdom. I fought wars and have taken the fallen men to my halls. I’ve loved and I lost loves. I’ve made so many memories over the past centuries, memories I treasure more than anything. Thoughts and memories, Huginn and Muninn, they fly through Midgard, through worlds no one dared to go before. Huginn shakes his feathers, he’s bold and mesmerising. Muninn his cry sounds different, bittersweet, he’s chaotic and sometimes stays away for too long. Both provide me with answers I seek, each in their own unique way. I’m afraid of losing my train of thought, but memories are irreplaceable. The birth of my children, the creation of mankind and carving their world out of bones of giants. All of these memories changed me, perhaps even made me a better man. Thoughts and Memories, Huginn and Muninn, are crucial even to immortal men.