Confessions Essays Stories

The Floor is LAVA.

Its funny, they are funny. Always perplexed at life so they were always trying to breath it anew. With a new book, with a new feeling or a new idea, always projecting or creating something, a reflection of what they saw but never what they were. Never really being themselves because they thought there was no self, they were a no body. A body projected into being something, when in reality- they were nothing.

I could not understand this.

 Although I had known them, loved them, helped them since they were young; they were always becoming something new although they stayed the same in a peculiar manner. A manner that left our relationship estranged but I was longing to be with them, anxious to meet them, longing to know them. It could be scary to be alone with them; they always gave you their full attention. Until their mind wondered away and they would get obsessed with a new feeling, flowing away without a moments glance. They did not waste their time. It was all they thought they had.

 It was one of the reasons why I loved them, one the reasons that made them special. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were always special. Special in the kind of way that gets you sent to a new school. A special our mum’s stubborn manner, would not bend too, a special that meant they could not be contained or understood in ways that tradition taught you. A special that mum could not handle, but loved with the rebellious urgency as if was her own self. She always called us her triangle. Her support, her life force, her reason for living and here we were drifting- fading-breaking. All of the warnings that were given to our young bodies were now forgotten. Memories that felt similar to heavy rain on broken bark. They were her daughter, although the silence that existed between them had separated us into islands.

They were omitted, although they were always prayed for.

We were all her children, a mark similar to branding. Her triangle.  It was all we heard when we were growing up and they were the last piece. The final line that made us complete, without them we were bursting connections that went in whatever direction you were standing.

We needed to protect and guide them but somehow they ended up with all the bruises, and jagged cuts of life that we all wielded. They seemed to wear theirs proudly.

“ I know you can speak, SPEAK. If you don’t speak they will send you to a special school. Speak.”

  Mum would recite this memory, often, and always with a smile, with a loving pride at the capability of their daughter and her own foresight. That Monday they went to school and spoke to their teachers and fellow classmates, for the first time. With a few words at first and then a whisper and then they grew tired and gained the confidence to say, “You have to listen to me, really well, because I don’t speak so good.” They would say this stuttering and biting their inner mouth; leaning towards the persons ear as if they could reach their mind, the closer they leaned. They soon learnt this was not the case. That people did not listen. Even with words, they could be ignored and left unheard and forgotten. They were 7.

“ I do not like to speak but I am good at it. They made me good at it. They made me learn how to use my voice. They taught me that silence was a privilege that few had.” They said this regretfully; they hated to speak and hated to be seen but they always stood out in the crowd. Their mid length locks covered in brightly coloured beads and shells, their yellow eyeliner radiating against their chocolate brown skin. Their sky blue eyelashes blinking with an undivided attention that kept all eyes moving with them.  This is why they often understood all their gifts as a dutiful curse. They were awkward and always lost in their mind, finding new trap doors with every moment. The only constant in their life was their body, their home. Like all homes the labour and pain that it took to make it hospitable was lost on all those who did not live there. The décor was often appreciated but the messy rooms were only for a few to see. Very few people took the time to explore and very few people were willing to pay the entry fee.

It pained them greatly. A clown with a large tent to fill but no regular circus acts to perform. No guests.

“ I love them, I love them so much, that I can’t be around them all the time.”  

For them, this made complete sense; they said this to me just before they left for Israel again. Their blue and pink flowery backpack towering over their head, dwarfing them like the skyscrapers they despised so much. Their new shell would be their only companion for the next four years. They would grow into it. Allowing it to become a living excuse to never look back.

I could never convince them to stay, it was never a possibility and thus I never tried. It was their ‘condition’. To express rather than to impress, to be rather than to seem, a ‘ condition’ that left them isolated from the rest of world. A ‘ condition’ that left them sitting in the desert for 9 months, a ‘ condition’ that meant they were never here.

    “ I am in love, I am in love, I’m in love. The wind, the silence, pure silence. Everything moves without a sound, I am the loudest thing around and thus I make no noise. The wind howls and the stars shine and the moon, oh my god the moon. When it’s full, everything becomes light, everything is alight I am alive.”

Their face becomes so animated with joy that they appear like their younger self, pony tails swinging, braids newly done. Their smile inching higher and higher into their eyes, until they are squinting. A bubbling child that always got in trouble for being exactly what they are now.

They were a beautiful mess, my beautiful mess, a clown dressed in a rainbow costume.  A clown that dressed for no one but themselves. It took years for me to see the crystalized tears on their face, to see their pain.

“ I miss it, I miss it everyday.”

They grit their teeth in the way that shows that they are holding back a mountain of words and a forest of feelings. It feels unreal to see them like this, to see them here. They are so assessable but always drifting. When they spoke of the desert, I could see they were still there. Fading into the sun. They did not come back for me.

They did not miss us. They loved us.

They simply had things to do now. Being here was one of them. They would leave soon and I will be back to reminiscing the existence of my own blood. 

  They are sitting crossed legged on the grass, their back is bent to the arch of the tree; their arms wrapped awkwardly around the base of trunk. Their face turned up towards the branches, peering further and further into the depths of their isolation. We are taking the afternoon to sit in Hampstead Heath, their favourite park in London, for its vast size and the fact that it was impossible to find anyone here. We are alone and we will stay like this until sunset. Until the day fades and I meet my love, and they go somewhere I will not visit.

We sit with all the necessary goodies of a summer day, crisps, juice, humus and bread. The devils food, “because you can’t stop eating it. I ate so much of it when I was on the road. Sometimes it was all I ate, all I could afford and I never grew tired of it, the devil’s food.”  

They smile gritting their teeth and shrugging their shoulders. “ YOLO”

They always said it but never ironically. For them it was a matter of fact, YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE. Their recklessness and inhabitation of this idea scared everyone who loved them. They lived by the notion that they had their body for a short time, so they felt forced to enjoy it, the best way they knew how. Recklessly and honestly, they felt obligated to this simple statement. YOU only lived once. They did not want shame, they did not want to apologise and they did not believe in turning back. Their was no back for them, their memories lived in the future.

“ Go forward, the only way is forward.”

 They would often point their hands to the sky and run on the spot, as if one jump forward was flying.

I admired them, I admired how they did whatever they wanted and could be whomever they wanted no matter the cost, no matter the price. The price of their silence was too heavy; inherited shame had broken their legs and created stumps that had healed into moss covered hoofs. They run wildly through the forest of time gathering new friends and dreams but never losing sight of home. I could not decide if this was for the best. They had caused destruction and tore up the ground; revealing the lava beneath our feet. There was no bridge to cross and no way I could get to them. They somehow always seemed to find their way onto my island and bring love masqueraded as upheaval.

They were standing alone. I was their only lifeline and I was drifting further away.  We were all scared of the fire beneath our feet. I learnt long ago that they could swim in it; they said they were born in it.

They were alone in it.  

“What else am I meant to do, be someone else, do something else, act like its okay, that it does not matter? They don’t see me, they don’t see themselves and I have lived too long in a house with no mirrors. Lesson learnt, lesson learnt!”

They always repeated this with a grave disposition, elongating the final repetition on their tongue and stretching their face like elastic to show me how serious they were. Their eyes stern for only second until they were laughing again, just long enough for me to see, that they were tired of the joke that was been played.  

Everything was a lesson. We were taught to listen to our elders and they independently learnt that everyone would teach BUT not everyone listened. All lessons leave a scar and they had too many scars to count. They swear that their scars were worth it, but they also believed and paid attention to the gaping wound, that we often ignored.

They ignored responsibilities and all outcomes that came from their reckless inhibition to claim life by all its infinite sides.

“Do you bo bo- do you!” But doing me was being here. They knew this and they thanked me for it, grateful for me, but glad it was not their place. That their condition kept them on the road, meeting, loving new people whereas mine kept me here, loving our home.  

Three months, under the same roof, eating the same food, watching the same films, all where we grew up. They needed to come to terms with this space, with their fear and I needed them here, I needed the support. I wanted the support; I wanted them.


 They would run away throughout the long summer days. Finding trees to hide under and books to read. Mum always screaming for them to hurry back and put on shoes, to eat food and to stay clean but they had all they needed.  A book and some shade, with Alice they were complete. Lost in a land where down was up and up was down, where questions were scary to those with a crown. Where things disappeared with a smile but returned to bring destruction to the now. They took Wonderland out from the library every week and they still carry it with them wherever they go. They never wanted to forget where they had been but they only wanted to talk about where we were going. How we could heal the past and create a new future, better than what had occurred and more than what could be imagined.  

“How is your heart? How are you growing, feeling knowing, understanding?” The chorus of their question remained the same but they always had a new verse, a new rhythm to dance too. Dreams, love and light were their favourite themes, an infuriating conversationalist when angry but a flood of relief when overwhelmed or sad. Their hands were clasped in their lap after organising their crystals on their knees, and along their upper thighs, they were smiling at everything that came but saddened by everything that was.

They always had so many questions; and so little time. They would wreck and destroy and dream up a blueprint with you only to leave before the construction. They failed to understand how much I wanted to hear their questions, to share sister time. I wanted to share my life with them but I always got snippets of care, like everyone else.

They paid close attention to my ‘condition’ and made me laugh at the ridiculousness of my fears. They would always listen. I knew this but I wanted the security of their presence. I wanted their smile.

“ You are infinity, you are beautiful, you are my sister and I love you, I will always love you and come and visit me, come, we will eat ice cream and wonder around. It will be good”

“ Everything is now, be now, be your sound, be true, I am here for you.”

It was infinity or nothing. On or off, beyond the reaches of time, there was a space and they willed it alive with every breath. They willed it with their fullest heart. My sister. 

They are smiling at me, waiting patiently for me to speak. Their face radiating a symphony of colours; like an alien anticipating abduction. Every feature a different construction of my own body, different forms but kindred selves.  I could see it all in their new orange- coloured glasses. I could see myself; I could see their brown eyes staring down at me from the heavens of their self-constructed mind.

They loved me and I loved them. I am still getting used to all the other additions that I did not know when we growing up, that our family had no space for, that our family had left them for. Their queerness, their reckless inhibition, their need to always say what was on their mind and their rejection of tradition. They had no regrets but their way of life had caused a lake of fire and they believed that we needed to learn how to cross it. That there was something better on the other side. 

We were blooming in the summer heat, especially now our roots could nourish each other’s thirst.   They were beautiful and would always be mine but they had given themselves to the world.

The reality of life was that they were always going but always here. They were named day for a reason and although it changes form it never disappears.

My sister, a being born to adhere to the discipline of never giving into fear, not even to our family name or shame.  They were beautiful but they did not play this earthly game. They were all loyalty but no patience. I loved them.

 We gathered our things and said goodbye to the sun, walking into the woods holding each other’s hands but going separate ways. Singing a song of unity.

Photography by Mehdi Iromlou and Dino Hubacher


The Open Heart


There was no moment, before I came to. 

In darkness I lived, but I could see through. An inherited home required my attention with the same vigour that a mountain thirsts for water. A desperation that runs so deep I do not know where it seeps. It is the only belief I know. I cannot disguise my apprehension to all that grows, while staying below. 

I am held here. My captor created ripples, penetrating my drooping skin, pushing my bolts and tightening my screws until all I can withstand is the silence that allows me to whisper within. It is the only thing I hold.  I am tied to this deathly song like the locket of a lover who has moved on. I wait in a tomb. The vibrations of yesterday do not waver in their murmur. I am alone. 






The grace that purifies all that lives does not come to my form. My shape must contort. Allow air to disrobe what is already fractured, hanging in the breathless void.

Screeching vapours of dense gas encroached my mouth, releasing a portrait of mist that circulated my anatomy: leaving me within, the insane daze of passing days.




I am a being unseen. Scaly and brutish, I am an assortment of treasures. A beast in disguise from its own eyes, for the form in which I reside weeps, when I reveal my mind. 

The being that wakes has no voice. I have no choice in my understanding. A listening booth is what I tried to compose. I want to hear what will allow me to leave this prison.



 Alas I find myself within a maze of encroaching dimensions that leaves everything I desire without intention. Destiny leaves much to be admired. I was promised a loving space; yet remain rooted in sinking matter. What I grow, decays before budding, like its creator. Failing to prosper in the material realm. I have nothing left.

I know myself within these walls. My faith is as ridiculous as a dying sunset; a conjuring of thought that cannot be accessed in time.

I reside inside.

The darkness is where I grow, where I wake, and where I play. I create feasts of my dismay, to devour. They settle in my stomach creating bubbles that destroy me vigorously.

I cannot flourish in a waking state.

I am a slave to the haunted. 


My gate is my throne. 

A castle composed of fractures and spirals, adorned atop the humblest of bones. I envision silky ribbons of pastel coloured light beaming into my soul and cracking my shell. A dance that disrupts all I have ever been. Allowing me to germinate expressive ceremonies that originate from within me. I imagine that this is what it feels like to be free. 


I am an intrusion; a being that colluded with time and space in order to wake. This was my first mistake. 

To open my door would be to let the world know that in here, there is a being that roams.

I will make no noise.

Imagined dream states invade my coffin.

I allow them to drape my surface like soliloquy’s said between young lovers on the brink of spring, an enslaving sensual delirium as potent as cherry blossoms.


To leave this castle of bones is to perish. Violating energies creating calamities of youthful proportions are the smallest fears I face. Long corridors and solitary gateways wait for the being that decides to emerge.


I found my disguise.

 I anointed myself an everlasting fear and cast a spell that meant I would forever be caged in here. Alongside a bewilderment of beliefs, a fountain of mould as vast as land and sea and a view of a mountain, I would never reach. Everything flourishes except thee. I did not want to be a beast, but it was all I found in my chamber of mirrors.     


I sit waiting. Fading into forgotten shadows, riddled with options. I find treasures in every direction and eat them like a beast, nourished by their multiplicity. I settle into the seed of forgotten needs and let myself be taken by what I cannot see. It feeds the darkness of my torrid tongue and I hear the ghouls sing their marching song.

I am a slave to the haunted. 


I imagine breaking through the dents in my back, to smoothen my core. Composing sounds of flowing waters submerge me gracefully. My form becomes unhinged; leaving me with buckets of my own exposed ruin. Embraced by my deepest roots. Nourished by the voice that does not speak, but vibrates in every action.

A second is forever in the galaxy of the heart so I need not know, how long I wondered in the dark. 


A noise came to my door.

I stayed silent as long as I could, but the knocking did not cease. The smell of my dreams was now my reality. It was patient. It played on my door like a petal on the breeze. Wafting the air, creating need.  I was sure my castle could not be found, a spiralling staircase set upon decomposing ground. A valley of quicksand to suck all those who dare approach, and a stream of miniature bones adorned my throne.

Yet I hear a knock. 

I came to, speaking in a voice unknown to thee. There is no need to speak when you understand yourself with a deathly serenity. Words are but tools, reserved for earthly beasts.

My voice trembled as I opened my mouth; my lips were tight as my tongue hugged my check with a wrestlers grip. I uttered,  

“Leave or say what you desire for I cannot help with what you require.”

Stillness appears, making me quiver in my steps. This form and I had a strange connection.

This being did not speak.

I waited. I shall not open my gate or say another thing. I am in pain; darkness escapes my veins. It is a dangerous tempest. 

I feel dynamic in its presence. 

This foreign brute hurts my life for I am sensitive to all those without disguise. I must protect myself. I must hide.

Knowing I’m not alone bruises me. It is vibrating below the ground. A dense shudder. I swayed under its grace. Could it feel my infested soul?  

It was grinding into my back like a digger; I hurled myself to the ground. Silently praying that mercy would be given to thee.


Eternity passed in our trembling forms. This moment did not exist in time, but rather in the pains of what scurried behind my unconscious eyes.

Primordial darkness stood between us.  


Its voice did not vibrate on this earth.


“I am ‘I’. You have the wrong place. I am that which bleeds without demise. I feel but cannot describe.”

I am an eternal sigh that gains no rest.


It must be a trick. I feel weak and scared to know: what makes this being.

How can it be assured in a land so strange?

This ground is mine.  

The being has stayed too long. Its nearness is disturbing my temporal song. 

The being wants to join me; I felt it in my bones. 

Does it not know that I wish to be left alone? 


I feel weak and deranged.

I have nowhere to hide. I shall not speak. I do not want to satisfy the thirst of this form. This being does not want ‘I’ but another earthly disguise. It is the swarm of desert loci that engage the green plain; skipping over the riverbeds, they feast for another day.



This being feels like the energy that surrounded the seed before the initial bloom. 

Its presence has me lost in an infinite loop of curious rooms.


I put my back to the door. My flesh and form cannot bear this weight. I am in need. I want this being close to me. In ways that make me shudder, I am in need of deliverance. I am in longing. I want to be touched by the tides of this form like the infectious waves of the ocean; I am the patient ever-changing rock.


I have no touch for what is strange. I can see no colour, other than the one that surrounds my earthly wake. Yet I want this being. It consumes me.


With a rush of tortured winds, doubt begins to sing. I am being dragged to the brink; I am face to face with my gate. Venerability has a face, an abyss with no mist. My hands wont leave my side. I want another disguise, a place where I no longer hide.

My mouth gapes wide, as my skin spreads. A conversational void between my fear and my suspicious soul emerges. It enables me to breathe.

What a funny feeling. Air caresses my side as swirls of lightning lift my temporal mind. My doubt swims from behind my eyes. For the first time since my birth, I have another feeling.

 I am split. I am turning. Rising to a new sensation that creates a cosmos of possibilities.

I feel you, deeply.

Coloured lights skim along, polished floors that stretch beyond view. I am a mountain, surrounded by energies that lack disguise. Swans of vapours electrify and purify all I hold dear. They leave me naked and scorned. In shame and fear, I contort. Laying my head in my wounds, I create memory walls to hear the sounds of what I loved once before. Their vibrations are burning me, like the glare of a volcanic storm; I am born in the fire of its call.

I am face to face with a sound, which lives presently now. A birthing rage fills its form, it slithers to my ear, and with reverberating scream – it whispers


A wolfish smile stills me. Twittering tingles play along my exposed vertebrates. Magnetic murmurs push me to the edge. I need, I want, to have this being within.

It whispers into my ear, its mouth plays along my bolts and screws. My senses are filled with an ethereal scent. Purple in shape, blue in space, yellow in heart, green in pulse, red in odour- it delights me into submission. Unwinding my form, I unlock, unblock and breath, its youth. I am a dark panther crossing prisms of 3-dimensional bridges. Within my minds eyes, I understand the root of my disguise.

I am transforming. My fears turn into a desert haze, as my dreams become riverbeds that constantly grow to create.

As I unwind, opaque winter clouds emerge from my scales.

I dive into my darkest wells and unlock all the monsters that I feed.

 I belong, to what I cannot see. I am filled with a delicious glee. I want this being and I can feel it wants me.

I feel unworthy, dirty with the sin of wasted time. I close my eyes and open the gate.

There is no visible sight, only my blistering disguise.

I see my form. A weltering violet in a compassionate hurricane, I grow roots like a tree.

A conversation between reality and mystery play along my sides- foraging my mind, I am no longer a prisoner to what kept me inside. My chains slip from my form and I remember that it was I who locked the door.

I wish to hear the voice once more. A confirming call that it was not in my mind.

A thunderous vibration tells me I am not alone; I do not fall, I am not afraid. I am awake, a sensation that is as unfamiliar as the path ahead.

I feel my essence in the breeze, desiring to hear what I seek; yet I hear only the expanding space within me. Silence emerges.  My heart races with anticipation, I will live to hear their voice once more.

I feel my home expanding, rooms unravelling, doors opening, feelings growing. I do not see the being but feel it sliver along my bones, telling me to grow. I close my gate and face the familiarity of the unknown.  


The Meeting Plane

Two Lovers

There were two lovers in a field. Holding and wishing to be healed, their kisses turned each other into an eternal bliss. They forget their temporal discipline, and why they had emerged from their previous catalyst.

They needed to find their own reasons to exist. Instead they found material pleasures in each other’s arms. Finding new shapes within their shared dreams, they found a home they did not want to leave. It had enough space for two but before they settled, they had to taste their temporal fruits. They gathered a cosmos of strength, from their longings and desires and let each other go. Trusting that each would find their way home. They were swept into a realm where their hands were no longer intertwined. They fell from their castle of dreams and were swallowed by their fears and beliefs.

They were swept into a realm where their hands were no longer intertwined. They fell from their castle of dreams and were swallowed by their fears and beliefs.

One faced a mountain of gold that stood on volcanic land. It hurled hot rocks and golden prisms made of sand. The other a forest, filled with immortal holes. It smelt like the dreams of prisoners who had hailed sorrow as there tomorrow. They entered and obeyed their own sound, digging for new perceptions and gaining intuitions.

  The first lover listened to the harmony, that puffed and sneaked. It obeyed the whispers of the forest, like its own heartbeat. The holes below stretched to the unsightly dwellings of what did not speak but slithered in the bleakness of being incomplete.

Leaning and peering at what was underneath, the lover was amazed at the beauty. The roots gnarled, wanting to taste what slithered above their crown. The watery nectar of the lover was tempting the forest into a violent kiss. They wished to swallow it whole, feel it revel in the darkness of their rooted soul, a beautiful sight to nourish a daunting night.

    The lover grew to the caws and sub songs of what lived in the trees. It senses soared above and scourged with the roots below.

The souls beneath the forest floor were relentless in their need. They wanted to feel the lover- bleed.

The lover stayed true. It held the power of the florescent full moon with a steady calamity. Silent in its wants, it pushed energy to the roots below, purring promises of safer tomorrows. Grounded in the sorrow of earthly time; they remembered the promise of divine light.  Their lovers voice whispered them home and they were wrapped in the warm velvet, of a caring soul.

Silent in its wants, it pushed energy to the roots below, purring promises of safer tomorrows.

    The lover broke the silence between with the birds and the spirits, creating a conversation between existence and reality. A mysterious insanity that was vulnerable to bloom. They moved slowly through the darkness. Staring at what conversed below; in awe at the beauty, of grief unclothed.

The second lover stood at the edge of ash and gold. The dignity of the mountain was kin to a snake slithering on a lake of ice. A graceful ferocity that was transcendental in disguise.

The realm held a heavenly weight. The lover gave itself to the monsters of the sea, the spirits of the fire and the divinities of the sky. They tried to forget the lover they left behind.

     Blood rushed through their veins as they descended into the deepest roots of their volcanic mind. A tender heart with gentle needs, the lover was like the bee, taking nectar without destroying a petal in the breeze. The lover returned to their core, where space and time were vacuums with open doors. The lover stepped forth.  

The spirits of the mountain filled the lover with a sensual fright. They forget their name and their plight. They began to walk along the spiralling bridge; it was a kaleidoscope of all they held within.

They descended to their darkest rooms, holding onto the mountains truth. Their feet glided along the celestial confirmations, with an ethereal touch. Their eyes were clogged with dust. Eternal aspirations moved through the lover with comet speed. Muted by the divinity of the mountain, appearance became a fickle illusion of light. The lover stalked the witching fortresses of dimensions with watchful eyes.

   An essence penetrated the lover like knives of ice; it dissected its temporal disguise. The lover became a roaming mind. In their chambers they planted seeds of perpetual truth. A cemetery with an angelic grace became a garden of youth. The lover stood at the mountain peak engrossed by the booming horizon. Violet hues with golden tones expanded and expressed humility to the forest below and the fire beneath. The lover stood, quietly, in peace.

The lover became a roaming mind. In their chambers they planted seeds of perpetual truth. A cemetery with an angelic grace became a garden of youth.

   Yet a ghost of temporal proportions sang to be free. They breathed a silent promise into the clouds and hoped the breeze would return the key so they could dismount. A statuesque form made of two heads and three eyes was the lover’s new disguise. They closed their eyes and jumped from the heavenly view, landing into an embrace, that made them understand the beauty of two.

Twilight shined through their embrace and the evolving sunrise lay above there composing temporal threads. Their entwined souls had bloomed a new home. Their kisses were the cool breeze, pulsing alongside the lava lakes, bursting to be set free.

The lovers became growth and peace; always finding new ways to meet. Never leaving each others side, they found spirits and forms to soothe and grow. Each lover had passed through, to see that faith in the unknown was the only true home.