the body issue

Being thin and flat chested

I felt like the Other,

walking, mumbling

merely existing on the margins,

trying to hold on, to remember

how it felt to be me beyond my

non-feminine existence



My body never belonged to me,

it was always their property

to look and to devour,

to judge and to despise,

always not feminine enough.

With a thin, awkward body,

a tomboy,

the never belonging aura

hovered above my existence for

decades to come.


A wall kept growing around me,

till my heart turned into cement,

and hardened,

cold, grey and barely living

full of self-hate bricks.


Years passed,

my body swayed

back and forth,

in time’s soothing breeze.

The wall blossomed

with colorful flowers.

My body gained strength and

I managed to break the cement

with my bare hands.

The insecurity bricks were destroyed,

allowing the light of real beauty

to shine through.


Photo: Pentax P30, 35mm with Pentax-A 50mm F/2 SMC Lens. Kodak Gold film 200. The Netherlands, 2014.

Celestial Connection

Millions of worlds apart

and thousands of words

are missing

between the space

we created for ourselves.


We stop conversations,

mute or misuse them,

while the big ice rocks fall apart,

like our lives when we refuse

to listen to ourselves.


This world is scary,

full of angry people,

but Earth remembers

and promises to color

our dreams and hopes

with gold dust extracted

from the deep, dark, daunting

place we call space.


And right into that moment

we glow furiously;

full of celestial body magic,

we dive back into the blues

and the greens of our reality,

the worlds we build

and the ones we destroy,

conquering one more day

from the eons that await us.


Photo: Livraria Lello, Porto, Spring of 2019, Portugal. Minolta Hi-Matic S, Rokkor lens, Kodak Portra, ISO 400, 35mm film.


Spring Haikus

Dandelions fly,

birds chirping vigorously

on heavy tree branches.


Duck lands on water

disrupting the park’s silence,

bumble bees humming.


Small buds, big buds

under the yellow sun

wait to fully blossom.


As night follows day

the sun sets between the trees,

a full moon rises.


A soft wind whistles

between the thick green leaves,

spring is finally here.


Photo: Porto, Spring of 2019, Portugal. Minolta Hi-Matic S, Rokkor lens, Kodak Portra, ISO 400, 35mm film.


I open some windows

to escape my fate,

find birds and talk to them,

find trees and smile at them.

But every breath of air

transforms through me

into pure pain.



I breathe pain

out of the air particles

that flee the house.

Pain I can’t escape,

pain I can’t explain.

The pain men

remind me of being

the weakness of my sex,

so deep and irresistible,

it diminishes

my very own existence



I close the windows

and shut the curtains,

while I breathe air in.

I close the doors

and hide the mirrors,

while I breathe pain out.

The room is finally dark.


Photo: Kozani, Summer of 2015, Greece. Minolta dynax 7000i, Kodak Gold, ISO 200, 35mm film.

One line a day

One line a day,

I promised myself to write,

even if it is bs.


One line a day,

to exorcize the evil spirits,

to de-demonize my heart,

to clear out the air of the room.


One line a day

might not seem enough

or good enough,

but it’s there,


engraved out of the soul’s depths.


One line a day

is all I need to start over



like an explorer in a strange land,

but this time,

I’ve been invited over

to sit and talk

with its people.


One line a day,

as I wake up at dawn,

alone in my chamber,

like a maid whose

day’s work is daunting her.


One line a day,

as I go to bed at night,

after working hard

on earning the food

that’s waiting for you on the table.


One line a day,

for the pain,

the misery,

the world around me

I can’t explain,

the clouds,

the forests,

the lakes,

the dead flowers in my yard,

the travelers,

the workers,

the family,

the friends,

the light in the morning,

the darkness at night.


One line a day

for the words buried in me,

haunting me,

and the ones that came before me.


One line a day,

for tomorrow,

our dreams

and Hope.


Photo: Walking in Stadspark, Groningen, NL. December 2018. Minolta Dynax 7000i (AF 35-105mm). Earl Grey Lomography Film 200, 35mm film.

Ο καστανας

Με βραχνή φωνή

στην άκρη της θάλασσας

πουλά κάστανα.


Γυμνά τα δέντρα,

φορεί λεπτό πουλόβερ

στον κρύο καιρό.


Προς τον καστανά

τα βήματά μου μετρώ

στην ζεστή φωτιά.


‘Θέλω κάστανα

για να ζεσταθώ’, λέω

‘Ορίστε’, λέει.


Αλλάζει χρώμα

κόκκινος ο ουρανός

το νέο έτος.


Photo: Thessaloniki, Greece. December 2017. Minolta Dynax 7000i, Kodak Film 200, 35mm film, 36 exp.

εκεινες τις μερες

Περιμένοντας την βροχή

ψάχνοντας το φως

ξεχνάω τις τελείες στις προτάσεις μου,

ξεχνάω ν’ αλείψω τις φέτες το πρωί,

και τρέχω τρελαμένη

πάνω κάτω στους δρόμους μας


θορύβους ακούω που δεν κατανοώ

όταν ανοίγετε τα στόματά σας,

κεφάλια στους δρόμους που γυρνούν



οι ώρες

οι μέρες

οι νύχτες σας με τις δικές μου

δεν συμπίπτουν

και φτου ξανά απ’ την αρχή.


PhotoBourtange Fortress in Southeast Groningen. November 2017. The Netherlands. Minolta dynax 7000i, Kodak Gold, ISO 200, 35mm film. Scanned with CanonScan 9000f Mark II. 

In Dreams

[The reality of a dream

swallows every possible outcome

of real happiness]


Dreams are made of fire and dust,

sweat and old stories.

In dreams, we see ourselves

as they should be,

we see our beloved ones

as Gods and devils

playing a game

for our sake.


In our dreams

we laugh

when we want to cry,

and we cry

when all else fails.

We have wings

and we can fly,

we achieve

what is meant to be achieved,

and we die

without feeling any pain.

We survive cataclysms

and all sorts of disasters,

we lose the sense of time

and we dive into

unknown seas.


But dreams,

dreams lead us through the tides,

when the moon forgets to sleep,

and our eyes flicker restlessly.

Dreams make our hearts flutter

while we wet our pillows.


Dreams are dreams and nothing more.


And as the morning sun

dries our night fears,

dreams will always hold

the moment we thought

we could be our true selves.


Photo: Flowers and Lights creatives session. 

Το κολυμπι

Στην θάλασσα μέσα τον σέρνουν,

στα χέρια τους τον βαστούν,

είναι γέρος,

το ξέρει,

το ξέρουν.


Προσπαθεί να σταθεί,



Το κύμα εναντιώνεται,




την τελευταία στιγμή

πριν το κύμα σπάσει.


Με αργές κινήσεις φτάσανε

πέρα από τις νοητές γραμμές της θάλασσας

τον έσπρωξαν,


Σαν τις μέρες εκείνες τις ξέγνοιαστες


Ο πόνος εξαφανίστηκε,

τα πόδια ξεδιπλώθηκαν,



Ελευθερία κινήσεων.

Στην θάλασσα όλα είναι.


Ο γιος του μπήκε στα βαθιά να τον πάρει

όταν τα δάκρυα είχαν ήδη στεγνώσει.


Photo: Spiaggia Capriccioli, Sardinia, Italy. Canon EOS 1000D, edited with VscoCam. 


Θυμάσαι που τρώγαμε καρπούζι τα βράδια,

κάτω απ’ το θολό φεγγάρι;

Και πως σκουπίζαμε τα πόδια μας απ’ την άμμο,

πριν μπούμε στ’ αυτοκίνητο;


Τώρα, τα πόδια μου αγαπούν το φρεσκοκομμένο χόρτο,

καίγονται στις αμμουδιές του χρόνου και

μεταμορφώνουν την στάση του σώματος.

Από τα τσιμπήματα των κουνουπιών

μπορώ να πω ότι ηρέμησα. Με ζούληξαν

πολύ όταν μετρούσα μονά φεγγάρια.


Έτσι κλείνει η φωνή μου, μ’ εγκαταλείπει

πριν προλάβω ν’ αρπάξω λίγο ησυχία.


Κάτω από τον καυτό καλοκαιρινό ήλιο

σταματώ να ονειρεύομαι. Μυρίζω το δέρμα

και ξύνω αλάτι, να το βάζω στις πληγές τον χειμώνα.

Αλάτι πολύ μυρίζει μέσα μου και αλλοιώνει

ό, τι παιδικό έχω ορίσει.


Κάτω απ’ το φεγγάρι, λοιπόν, γιορτάζω.

Το πριν και το τώρα για το αύριο και

θυμάμαι όσα καλοκαίρια θέλουν να ξεχαστούν.

Με ιδρώτα και πόνο, με κλειστή φωνή

τραγουδώ ξενικές νότες και καθώς

απομακρύνω την πατρίδα, δεν γυρνώ

να κοιτάξω στον καθρέφτη. Έχω φύγει.


Photo: Parga, Greece. July 2017. Minolta dynax 7000i, Kodak Gold, ISO 200, 35mm film.