Midnight scribbles/random little poems

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So this is what it’s really like
To feel the beats skipping
Little pause caused by your voice
And now then there you
Are sitting in the last light
Holding a steady gaze, slowly

I just might tell you all that
Used to be carefully pushed
Deep down and far from my tongue
Somehow found its way here
Now lingering on my lips, softly

If you could feel all this longing
Wouldn’t that make you want
To stay and sit down, closely

Were you to leave now, oh then
What a waste of a good secret


Same difference
He said unknowing
Of what remained

Oh how predictable
The disappointment
As repetitious as
The return of Mondays
And the end of Summer

Another year
And all but you
Has changed


Things that keep me up at night

Everything that I didn't say
Or the stuff that I did
But didn't get quite right
Though mostly it is
The overwhelming silence
Of you sleeping next to me

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One way (or out of town)

It seems that while packing
Your bags and neatly
Folding and tucking away
All the feelings keeping you
Tied to this particular place
You didn’t stand still
Long enough or even briefly
To take note of all the things
You would leave behind

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That first night
A sigh left
Your mouth right
Before my name
Followed only
By a prolonged
Gaze not that you
Aren’t usually
Right but in all
Honesty don’t
You think what
Could haves and
What if’s about
Climbing up the
Stairs or into a
Cab would be
Answered only by
Another one of
Those long kisses


Late last night
Some time after
The last call
And shortly
Before midnight
When most chairs
Found themselves
Upside down
And the light
Was dimmed for
The last time
You looked at me
And lingered longer
Than usual but
Brief enough to
Make it feel alright
As you were to
Say this did not have
To be good night


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If I could take it
All back I know
I wouldn’t except
To do everything
Different, oh is that
The opposite of
What I just said?
I must’ve changed
My mind or not
Thought it through
After all, this time

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She is here now you
Made sure of that by
Pushing and legislating
By constantly reiterating
That you know what’s right
For me and my future

Surely you made it so
That I didn’t even have
A choice because her
Unborn promise is a greater
Good then my unfulfilled
Potential and if you think
About it had I not shown
By living that I became
Unworthy of my own decision

One day that little baby
Girl will look just like me
Then, will you still care
About what it is she wants
To do with her life and body
Will you still fight for her
Rights and make sure she
Can pursue her desires

And when she gets hurt
Will you put efforts into
Pursuing those who caused
Her pain is now not yours
Anymore, has never been

If the day comes where
She will tell you that what
Grows inside of her isn’t
Unwanted or even unwelcome
But she is incapable of
Carrying it to terms then
Will you be able to come
To terms with that?

In bloom

As you grow
So do I
Maybe it’ll take
Us apart
But by the end
Of Spring
You might find
I’m still near
My branches
Brushing against
Your flowers


Waste is all the days
We didn’t have
And nights we never spend
But what about all the times
We didn’t even try
What to call that

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You’ve tried to leave before
But what kept you from the door
Was this little voice in your mind
That said leaving everything behind
Would not change your plight

A sunset over a different skyline
Would push worries to the sideline
But something inside you knew
That the best thing you could do
Was to get a different point of view


You don’t like stillness
So instead you send me
Postcards from places
I’ll never see and towns
With names I don’t know
If I recall the last time
You stuck around long
Enough to see the
Sea side sunrise we were
Both once in awe of

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Legs tired but minds full
Of new ideas and excited
By possibilities of the
Falling evening now after
Being sun soaked and
Salted the breeze kicks in

Let’s just see what happens
If we stay a little longer

Waiting to leave
While hoping to stay
You ask what is left
In this place
Where no one even knows
What is lost


An ode to (female) mentorship

The director of a graduate program, a documentary filmmaker, a researcher turned restaurant owner and the founder of a female-centric production company. These are some of the wonderful women who have granted me opportunities in the workplace, and were friendly faces outside of it too.

We recently paid tribute and said goodbye to a brilliant professor, journalist and filmmaker. Deanna Kamiel was both the director and the heart of the Documentary Media Studies program at The New School. When someone recommended I’d look into that program four years ago, Deanna immediately took an interest in me. She welcomed me with open arms when I visited to ask her some questions and get a tour of the university. Since we both came from journalism, I felt a kinship with her early on. Just two journalists turned documentarians, who believed in the power and beauty of film and that following protagonists with little interference could illuminate some form of truth.

Hearing stories from others on the night of the tribute I learned that what she had meant to me, she also did to many, many others. It was beautiful to learn just how much impact she had made. I’ve always considered her someone who changed the course of my life, both personally and professionally. From her I learned about so many documentary filmmakers whose work I now hold dearly, and she taught me all I need to know about cinéma vérité. She also made it possible for me to both come to and then stay in New York.

Even after I left her classroom, she’d continue to help me develop and stayed actively in touch. She’d champion my thesis film by still showing up to screenings of it, even though she had seen it countless times. She wrote some glowing recommendation letters that landed me jobs and even more importantly, secured my artist visa, allowing me to stay here and continue the work that I love. She’d invite me to come speak to her new class, and afterwards keep me updated about the progress of their films. She’d write me to share thoughts about films she knew I’d enjoy too.

In saying goodbye to her, I came to think of how important mentorship is. And how lucky I’ve been to consider multiple women in my life as mentors. The beauty is, I never had to ask for it. In trusting me with the work I’d do for them, they gave me the greatest gift. All of them allowed me to grow by giving me responsibility, showing me they thought I was capable, making me want to strive for what they believed I could do. They gave me advice when I needed it, or let me watch over their shoulders as they did what they do best.

One of them gave me the chance to prove myself as a researcher, by hiring me for an international documentary series and is now helping me develop a project as a director. Another gave me my first job on a feature documentary, allowing me to grow in my position over years and making me feel part of her core team. Meanwhile the woman who gave me my first internship in the documentary world has grown into a friend that I still visit every time I come home, and who I can always ask for help. And Deanna, she always treated me as an equal, a fellow filmmaker, honoring my voice as a young artist, even when I was still trying to find it.

Along the way, others appeared too, willing to share their knowledge, to take a bit of time to point me in the right direction, or to encourage me to continue. Like the director who would always refer me for jobs, even though she had never personally worked with me. And the author who frequently edits my attempts at creative writing. Or the writer/showrunner who let me and the women I share a collective with ask her all kinds of questions about her work. I owe a debt of gratitude to each and everyone of them.

The other day some advice from lettering artist and author Jessica Hische popped up on my Twitter feed. She wrote how one of the best things any women in her twenties could do for herself is befriend awesome women in their thirties, forties, fifties, sixties and so on. The reason? “Seeing constant (real) examples your potential future self means never wishing to be a day younger than you are and looking forward for what’s to come.”

I couldn’t agree more. In these women that helped me guide and shape my career in my early twenties, I see what I want to be, and can be. A director, a business owner, a storyteller, a generous friend and one day, a mentor to someone else.