Mar 20, 2017

Do I dare to eat a peach?


Wearing: Dress - Mango / Heels - Deichmann


The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock    

.
.
.
.
.
Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Mar 13, 2017

Hypocrisy



Wearing: Mules from ZARA / Mom Jeans - Topshop / Top - Mango

 
In the game of hypocrisy,
they raise their mighty swords.
Thinking that each one is a comrade.
But then again no,
rather an enemy in disguise.

Here I watch and witness each murder
Each drop of blood a waste until it ends.
I'm torn between pitying and saving
these disgraced souls going to straight to God knows where.

The fight isn't over
At least not yet.
I'm waiting for the last battle cry.
And there I will clean the soil from their blood.
From the immaturity of them all.


-100215















Mar 8, 2017

Dear March



Wearing: Shoes - Zara / Shorts - H&M / Top - Mango / Cardigan - Zara


Dear March - Come in -
How glad I am -
I hoped for you before -
Put down your Hat -
You must have walked -
How out of Breath you are -
Dear March, how are you, and the Rest -
Did you leave Nature well -
Oh March, Come right upstairs with me -
I have so much to tell -

I got your Letter, and the Birds -
The Maples never knew that you were coming -
I declare - how Red their Faces grew -        
But March, forgive me -
And all those Hills you left for me to Hue -
There was no Purple suitable -
You took it all with you -        
 
Who knocks? That April -
Lock the Door -
I will not be pursued -
He stayed away a Year to call
When I am occupied -        
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come

That blame is just as dear as Praise
And Praise as mere as Blame -

Emily Dickinson, 1830 - 1886