Books christina strigas confessional poetry dream men Poems poet poetry streams of consicousness thought words writers writing

i took all my books out of the way

i made a path for you to walk into

but you send me cryptic messages

i can’t understand. i’m not that smart

i think in beats, rainbow schemes,

i want to finish writing this poem

before he gets here and breaks my

silence into too many questions

i avoid answering. i removed my

poems for you, made you walk

straight into my heart and pull

it apart with my own weakness.

i never should have trusted you

with that one secret, you haunt

me with it, pass it around my

air like a ball. you’re playing

with my vulnerability. i tell

you to fuck off instead of good

night and in the morning you

wonder why i left for work

so early and we don’t talk again

until the following day

where we start over and forget

the past. it’s what we call

staying married these days.

artists book of poetry Books christina strigas confessional poetry dreams Poems poet poetry streams of consicousness words writers

The hues of light around the anger

Every day is a blur of the one before

and the one before that

and the one happening now.

I am changing the date on my journal

to keep track. For a while there,

I stopped.

I felt darkness around the

days of the week and months.

I feel this abyss will never end.

I don’t know what will save me from

the days. Nothing really. My coffee is warm.

The longer I stare out my window

at my lilac tree, the colder it gets.

You wake up and want my attention

you make me coffee. You know how

I get weak when you speak my

language of love. It’s still a cloud

in my heart. It could be grey one

day, blue another, white, moving

silently and then you crack the mirror.

I’m out of my skin, I’m shedding

a new layer of your anger.

so I have to drag myself out of the earth

and walk on planks.

You want me

to love you and I do. In the way

I should not. I know better by now

but the clouds never leave, they hover

and expect me to be my best self.

I’m writing and spinning out of control

over hatred, you’re making me tired.

Let’s stay naked in bed

create our own clouds

dissipate the anger with our skin.

Even fantasy has holes

we refuse to mend.


Let’s Welcome Back Humility 

Your ego needs a break

stop staring in the mirror

and taking all those selfies

for strangers. your wardrobe is

stale, humidity can be seen

on your clothes. your hands

need pens instead of those 

fake diamond rings.

check your narcissism 

at the bar of outdated dreams

writing is an amazing escape

not a word

to the neighbours

who pretend to not read your status.

please stop telling us where you ate

and how beautiful your lie is

your gray is showing

and your husband is too sweet

for your wicked party ways.

I was raised with more heart

than glamour

mended socks

home-made meals

opera singers 

so let’s welcome back


it missed you

while you were 

taking another selfie.




imageIt’s 1973

i have authentic white tiny flowers in my hair

the way i was supposed to live

walking for my aunt, down the tiny cobblestone roads

in the middle of summer, following the gorgeous bride,

in the village, my parents were born and fell in love,

singing Greek songs in the open air,

watching how the Mediterranean sun plays golden tricks

on my mother’s short 70’s crew cut.

It’s 1979

on the plane with my dad

emergency landing to tend to the sick

his father is dying and everyone is talking about

olive trees. my hair is too short for Europe

my knees too knobby but everyone loves my accent

they say i’m beautiful

i sleep at the top of the hill with my cousin Mimika

and two other cousins have my name and moles.

I find it weird that we all look alike yet no one sees

the sun’s brilliance like me

or notices how the moon shines at twelve years old.

they want all my clothes and look at the brand names

while i care more about the sky and my grandmother’s sad eyes.

she likes to hug me like it’s the last time she will

every hug feels like her last hug.

i felt death hug me when she squeezed and kissed me like that.

we sleep in the afternoon or climb out the window to play with the hens.

It’s 1991

everyone my father loved has died

I’m backpacking through Europe with my best friend

and we visit my childhood

but it’s so long gone,

i slept all through Paros

Santorini saw all our dirty laundry

Pensioni Andre had no mirrors

so we hid well

under the sun’s rays.

Every day lasted forever

every love a lifetime.

It’s 1998

I’m three months pregnant in Agadir

and doing some kind of pregnancy test

it feels like this baby will live

and he does.

my life will never be the same again

i’m a mother


It’s 2001

the ultrasound indicates it’s a girl

and i cry like a baby

praying she’ll stay warm and safe

and never leave me stranded.

with blood and tears.

it’s 2011

everyone sees Greece through the eyes of my children

and we love each other madly

every year

every ocean

brings us closer

to death

and the cup we were

meant to drink



finally alone

is full of memories

and our future is still

full of dreams.

he says no matter how old you are
you are always young to me

you never age.

i love you.

these are the years that grab me

make me cry to our song

and i sign death certificates.

i grab hold of my soul

and shake it a bit

then i silence it.

you thought you knew me

but truly it’s 1973

and the sun is the brightest i’ve ever witnessed

and my mother’s beauty haunts me.



There was a time in the 80’s when I was sixteen

and Michael was my everything

while I was his nothing. And even years

later every time I’d see him he pretended

i was nothing. from nothing to something.

from something to nothing. i call him an asshole

now. even my daughter knows his name. it’s not

a fucking secret how i loved him. you probably never

get over a love. and when i left or you left or whatever

happened because it’s all a blur, for the second or third

or fourth time and i ran into you on the street and you told

me to stop my car. you always wanted me back

every time I ran you ran faster. you married me

we had kids

i had red roses and an Alfred Sung gown.

Once I met a man, it was brief, maybe twenty minutes

or so, once he told me how my beauty

marked him. another time a man wrote

a book for me, he wanted my blood

as his pen. sucked me dry out of my silence.

created some Greek fucking muse of abuse

and left me with ashes on my cheeks.

It’s true that you never forget a love.

It’s true that you love your wife.

It’s morality to want it all and smoke in the hall.

i’ve lived it. you have no idea how I live.

I’m an artist and he supports my locked up frustrations.

my midnight madness

even if he isn’t one, he loves my crazy.

But you, you get all of me

in a brown package

delivered straight to your heart

and soul.

and you open me up gently.

just be sure

to not mix me up

with your other soul mates

and i will do the same.

my eyes and hair haven’t changed much

everyone says i look the same. IMG_7644

every love

is you.


I’m not that smart

It’s raining in the light today

and soon the dark

will control my mind

but reading your poem

exclusively for me

made my heart swell

felt like a tiny pebble

in this great ocean

we drown or swim in

or float

ordering our morning coffee

smiling at the same waitress.

And there you go again

asking me the same

question years later

hoping for a different reply

but I’m not that smart

leave me cry

over my broken ripped out heart

insult me again

hate me

for I love that you’ll be so close

and in the spur of the moment

I’m there

don’t ask me to think about


because in seven minutes

I’ll regret my no

as your plane lands

perhaps mine already left.

I ordered my afternoon coffee

I’ll be discussing how education

has failed the young

a panel of experts

will point me out

as the woman whose life

changed in November

when a car crashed

and broken glass

stopped her

from replying

and living

her life.

I know nothing

I wish I was smarter

but you have

all the power.


We are the Same Soul

There are days when only your voice

can carry my troubles into safety.

I’m reminded of the eras we shared

it all comes back to me

in flashes,

the waves we rode,

the courts we jested,

the letters we sent,

the cab rides

we shared,

the way you told me

‘the only way to love is full of abandon

recklessness, don’t you know silly girl

that logic is useless

and reason is full of doubt’

Then somehow my words get trapped

in your mind

and my soul is no longer mine

i shall search for my lost self

and find that little girl

inside. other times i marvel

how you have taken my wonder

and transformed it

into poetic riptides.

The visuals of goddesses

of the past and present,

my Virgo twin

I should be loving you right now

but you send me your bullets

as I welcome them.

hit me with your best lines

i’m living the lie

waiting for the dream

It’s coming straight from California

my book of poetry will be in your hand

and nothing will make sense



breaking into a thousand pieces

it’s not what you did it’s that you did it at all

how you dissected me into beautiful fragments

of my soul.

no one else could do it like that

you took the best parts of me

and showed them to myself.

all my self-doubt drowned

at least for a bit

until they resurface

when i’m naked in the bath.

you clutched all of me

with your tight grasp

and morning mantras.

how is it possible

to love like this?

to hate like this?

you will go one day

like everyone before you,

but for now

you can complete

the parts of me

that drowned.





It appears that muses speak

through the poet’s words

It appears that they are Greek

they stemmed from a legend

that we constantly bend…

could my father have been Zeus?

my mother Mnemosyne?

Did you see verses in my eyes?

poetry in my lies? did I inspire you to

delve deeper into your psyche?

Calliope or Erato? whom can

you devour?

None of it is true

yet all of it is how you

see me as a water nymph

say the truth you fucking do.

I can be wickedly cruel

or a spitfire that never sleeps

aches and bleeds for

no one and everyone.

Here, primarily for you.

You see I could remember

everything you ever told me

no books are needed

I’m from ancient Greece

it’s all in my memory

as you decreed.

no computers, no typewriters

no quill pens

no seals

just my lips reciting

your words

and my physical beauty

inspiring your epic poetry.

But all that was from another life

one that glows in golden hue

in a time

where you felt time

in every core of you.

We lived it then

and modern love

has killed all muses

into eating their poet alive.

They go on their knees


and wait in a line

for the next one

to come along

and inspire.

once upon a time

i was the only one

that read your eyes

and gave you art.