Performance Mode

There is a strange elevation
In my performance
That comes with the thought
Of being admired


My love is unavoidable

My rays of golden happiness
Are unavoidable

The truth in which I live
Is unavoidable


why do I do this

Some people ask me why I do this,
Why I write to the overwhelmed ears of the internet

And to them I say:

I write for me.

This is not about how many people read my work
It is not about how many likes
Or how many followers
It is not about how much I have of something
Because how can that really define success?
Once you reach the number, well, theres just more milestones to reach

This is not about the numbers
This is about me

This is about
Having the courage to inspire myself
To dream

This is about
Having the courage to grow
To be willing to fail
Even if it only means that I tried

This is about
Having the courage to be grateful
To remember that every moment is a miracle
And that concept of this existence
Is enough

This is about
Inspiring myself
Creating myself

This is about
Owning my uniqueness
Embracing my analytical (and hypocritical) nature

This is about me


a walk around the neighbourhood

I’ve been exposed to many insights.
And I love that.
I love that someone bothered enough to analyse me
I love that I have been provided with another perspective
I love this opportunity.

The part that keeps replaying for me is the fact that he was disappointed when it appeared that I didn’t consider his feelings.
And I must confess something here: perhaps I am a bit of a sadist, because that thought doesn’t bother me as much as I feel it should.

He interpreted it as me not considering his feelings. Which, I admit, was a part of it while I was in the thick of it.
And now, upon reflection, I realise that it was not just that.
No. I was not oblivious. And I will never be.
Instead, perhaps the harder truth to swallow (and to explain) is that I did know. That I always knew. And that I chose to do it anyway.

Would he be upset? If I confessed that it was all some kind of test?
That I didn’t, intentionally plan it to be like this. But rather that it appeared forth in me in ways I didn’t expect. Certainly, I was not myself in the thick of it (which is another part of this learning experience). But I became what I needed to be, to get him to divulge his results. And he still is.

Perhaps this makes me a monster.
Being able to execute these kind of elaborate ploys.
But then again: it would only be considered monstrous if I did not get hurt. And I did get hurt. In my own plan, if it was planned perfectly, then I would not have gotten hurt. Wouldn’t I? Or maybe it easier to plead my case if I use me hurting myself to excuse my actions.
Bear in mind: I am not invincible to the results. I am not invincible to your decisions or how I react to them. Perhaps that levels the playing field. That I am as much of an overseer in this game as you are. In that, neither of us can control the outcome, as much as we would like to predict it. The only thing I do have control over, is how I interpret the results. As I spend countless hours pulling meanings and learnings out of these experiences; like I am extracting sap from a tree, interpretation is a delicate process, yet rewarding beyond measure.
Rewarding, even if the results are not what society deems to be acceptable. If the results are not “good” and I just misused my friends, if only to see their reactions.


All I want to be
Is a glowing entity
Gliding across the dance floor
Something commanding
Yet, not physically imposing

I want my clothing to
Emphasise my actions
Where they hold them in the air
For longer

All I want to be
Is something you can’t.
Something you see in your dreams
Encompassing the attention of the room

Something evocative



A sparkling center of energy,
In a city of flickering neon lights

A golden angel.
The navy blanket that drapes the town, slinks away in her presence

A glowing sun,
Against the reds and blues of human desire and depression