pingXgeertje

She started shoplifting when she was twelve years old. Here’s the truth: no-one suspects a white girl with golden curls and big blue eyes, dressed in Levi jeans with the latest I-Phone in one hand and a designer-bag in the other to steal. This always amused her. After all, a designer bag can hold stolen lipsticks, granola bars, pots of hand cream, stud earrings, folded T-shirts and a fistful of mascaras as well as any other bag. It is the simple truth that people saw her sweet smile and expensive clothes and felt that she would not steal simply because there could be little that she lacked. After all, she had her daddy’s credit ca

The cat disappeared shortly after we moved into our new house. She was a sleek and somewhat tubby ginger with big, yellow eyes that she used to squint at me in a soundless demand for more food. Every now and then, she would leave our house and explore the neighbourhood, but she always returned home in time for dinner. I would only have to open the door and yell ‘Chummy!’ and she would run towards the kitchen and her bowl as fast as her little legs could carry her. Our new house was large, with four bedrooms and a huge garden that was choked with brambles and grass that reached to my knees. During our first day there, Chummy was p

I often think about the times When being captive was Mere children's play and When yellow stars were silly Things that little children drew When some numbers weren't names And people didn't live With tens at a time In the same beds that smell Of lost things: ourselves, hygiene, hope When we weren't seen as vermin To work and die like dogs Just some human waste Useful because of our Hair, for pillows, fat, for soap I often wonder, trying to sleep Which I can't because of Whispers of the dead Is it really a crime To be gay, a gypsy, or Jew?

Just as the brain needs oxygen in order to keep it healthy, she needed her dreams to keep her sane. Without the fresh air, the grey mass surrounded by the safety of her skull would starve. Without dreams, her heart, the colour of roses freshly washed in morning dew, would wither. So she kept on breathing steadily, filling her lungs with wisps of clouds and air, and she kept on dreaming, filling her heart with hazy visions and empty promises. Empty words carry no meaning, and are nothing more than warm air. Empty promises carry more meaning than they should be allowed to, and are like ropes. A summer long the ropes crept along her skin, and wh