The wild woman has been kept inside of us we are born to run with wolves to touch the skies to aim for more the wild woman is unstoppable unforgettable undefiable To be a wild woman is to embrace our female ancestors those who survived the largest predators on earth …

The beauty of accepting my inner artist through a psychedelic trip. — Inspired by a trip I had after consuming psilocybin, a naturally occurring psychedelic, I decided to write a creative piece about the experience, which I would consequently publish in a large magazine. Considering the significant exposure of the essay, I felt the need to disclose my experience to my father…

This poem goes to all of those trapped in the system To all the students, teachers, hosts, engineers, mathematicians, scientists, philosophers, artists This poem goes to all the managers, governments, teenagers, adults, single parents, consultants, project managers, lawyers and lets not forget, this poem goes to the lifelong learners, to…

One of my big reasons to move to Rome was to feel somewhat more inspired. Life in the Netherlands was filled with a big creative block in my head, soul, and body. I’ve had a writer's blockage since last January, until about two weeks ago — it’s slowly unblocking. Since…

Damn, I don’t think people truly understand what it means to move countries and start from scratch — to leave behind the life you’ve been building, every friend, every conversation, every scene, every day. I remember when I moved for the first time. I was 18, naive, and excited to…

It’s been a while. Not gonna lie, motivation has been shit for the last five months. I gotta say, ChatGPT and all the other AI tools have played a role. I loved, or love, writing. It makes me feel inspired and allows me to channel my emotions, but I just…

How is it possible that a woman is condemned for her freedom that a woman is diminished as less than a man How is it possible that we still feel hunted down at nights walking alone towards the lions How is it possible that millions around the world have to…

A poem on survival skills — I wonder which one is harder Going back home or returning abroad where you now belong Home Home feels warm, peaceful, simple, comfortable Home feels like early mornings to coffee made by dad Home feels like the same breakfast every morning because it’s simply what I grew up knowing and it does not get boring…

It makes me feel tired when I am called pretty instead of smart, extraordinary, creative As if my look was the only thing defining my capability When I meet a man my first questions will be about his passions his dreams his goals Why can they not ask the same? Why are we diminished so much so often so loudly I am more than my looks and know that when you don’t see that you are losing me A piece of art