27 Day writing Challenge Revived

Two years after a global pandemic – The new normal is anything but.

After taking an extended hiatus from my daily posts during this pandemic, I’ve slowly come back to establishing a forum for reflecting and discussing the issues, thoughts and ideas that have stuck with me for the past two years. I don’t think I’m alone in the creative conundrum that was born out of these times we are all living in. I’ve made small efforts to ignite thoughts that mattered, ideas that stuck, words that felt right. Now, it’s time. Of course the events that have unfolded since March 2020 are so life changing; they significantly impacted every single part of our lives. The world has been turned upside down and inside out, and I’m grateful to be alive at a time like this.

The past two years have been an immense opportunity for self reflection, global awareness, re-evaluation and re-calibration. In other ways a revelation in grasping a renewed sense of purpose. Dealing with the fear of the unknown, trusting our instincts, understanding what works and what doesn’t in our lives; is a lifelong experiment. The images, feelings and thoughts of the events that shaped those first two weeks of March 2020, felt like tectonic plates were shifting under our feet. My then daily posts felt trivial, and unnecessary in the grand scheme of the survival mode we were globally thrust into. My world became my Brooklyn neighborhood. The mental exhaustion of times we are all living through, had stigmatized any real creative juices from flowing. Growing, moving, changing cities (again), packing up my life in New York, and experimenting with a life that’s new, different and strangely familiar; are some of the things that I will be sharing with you all during the next 27 days.

now, the time has come.

There are too many things that have sparked my attention in the past two years that it seems ripe for the picking.

Join me, and welcome to my stories from the Edge (again)

Stay safe, aware, and grateful.

Bedtime Stories

Photo by Robert Valenzuela

Nestled in the crevices of my mind, Behind all that is real and sublime.

Time slows down in the fading embraces, chances lost and found in between the sheets, in glimpses of past dreams.

Passion, Obsessions, Connections open to interpretation.

Lessons learned, hearts burned, bodies yearn for touch earned. Fingers learn to feel again, lost on the cacophony of explosions at dawn.

Night time stories told on the inches of skin, revealing the softness and harshness within, and giving me an internal battle I won’t ever win.

Liquid courage and sin. Loving the skin I’m in.

Letting your touch take my shape in between these sips of gin, like poison.

You grin hiding the pain and longing for something real, I (we) steal these folds of fabric to cover the passion within.

And then quiet again.

And this feeling of loss again.

while the blue skies & pink shades cascade through my mind again.

This time is just for fun. I tell myself.


Nestled in the crevices of my mind,

Stands time.


Sublime caresses, as I undress my soul one orgasm at a time.

Cheap wine running through my veins coveting time.

Switching my brain off to the past pains, and enjoying long embraces as I untangle my mind.

Talking in tongues, letting you in my garden where sacred spaces take shape, as you have decided to mold me, hold me close to the fire within.

I’m in.

This time it’s for real.

New York Stories part 2

How to keep true to a city and leave it behind.

Manhattan Bridge May 2021

I’ve decided the let go of New York. My time in the City that helped me grow as a person, a woman and a writer, has now come to a close. I’ve not let go of her yet, and even when I eventually physically leave the city, I will never leave her. She’s been my companion through truly hard times, and through beautifully joyous ones. The stories of the past nine years are coming back to me as I gather them, life morsels, savoured through every memory created in this vast metropolis.

The stories I will continue to tell, are built upon this city of metal, false hope, real struggle and immense courage. She continues to evolve, as I have. The observer and the observed once again merged. Now more strongly than ever before; I look at her slowly disappearing from my rear view mirror as I move decidedly and quietly to the next leg of this writing journey.

She will always be with me, I’ll take her wherever I go In the only way I can, through my writing, my poetry, my spoken word and my commitment. I’m devoted to her in ways I never thought possible and although leaving her may be a foolish errand, New York will push me no matter how tired I am, to build something worthwhile, and something that’s truly mine.

Biggie in Brooklyn

Leaving is never easy. She may not forgive me. I hope she will. My love for her is eternal. She knows me like few cities do. She’s seen me break down in tears in public like all New Yorkers have because let’s be honest it’s a right of passage. You cry yucky tears on the train home from work next to a complete stranger and no one will bother you; Not because they don’t care, but because crying in the subway at 6:00pm on a Tuesday beckons you to the reality that is this city. She’s a bitch but she cares.

I’ll cary her, as she carried me though these tough, enigmatic, wonderfully tragic years of transformation. I will return to her doorstep from time to time, for coffee, a bagel some good conversations and a slap in the face to remind me to stay true to my convictions.

Thank you baby it’s been real. F*ck I love you.

27 Day challenge Challenged

Sometimes the things we planned for are the same things we had no plans for.

March 22, 2020

This past march marked my 3rd annual 27 day writing challenge. The month of March marks a personal turning point, a shift, a place of transition from what was before to what is after, a very introspective, somewhat lonely winter season. March has also become a reminder of a dark time, an anniversary that we never thought we would be reflecting on. Last March, we entered into a contract we thought we would quickly come out of. The authorities said three weeks tops; then a lockdown, a pause in New York, that brought the city to a halt. I spent my 42nd birthday quarantined with my flatmate in Brooklyn. 14 days into a global shut down New York was the most quiet it had EVER been. It was post apocalyptic how silence and New York just don’t mix. My world became the 4 block radius around my apartment. My anual 27 day writing and post challenge was for lack of a better word, challenged. My love of writing however never wavered, I made countless notes, wrote small poems, and elaborated on thoughts. Ideas cropped up in my writing journals, my pen however had better days. I am feeling the urge to share my viewpoint a year on, as I’m entering into my 43rd circle around the sun.

In those early days of the lockdown like pretty much everyone around me, I felt panic and fear that for the first time there was no plausible way out of. There was no explaining or theorizing a way out of it. Patience, writing, meditation, more patience, rinse and repeat. I’ve since blurred the memories from the seismic shifts, big or small and now post aftershocks upon aftershocks, there are times when I’m still in shock. I blink my eyes everyday in gratitude to be alive. March of 2021 seems like a decade and a split second has gone by. The collective and personal thunderstorms that uprooted our lives, have somewhat passed and now we collect what is dear to us and reconnect in ways that we may have never explored before this past year.

This year the challenge continues, beyond the constraints of the 27 days of March. Writing, commentary, poems, thoughts, and discussions are refreshed in a way that goes beyond the limits and constraints of a formula. The bar has risen, the lines have been blurred, and the content will explore the ever changing and shifting world that reveals itself to each and every one of us. I choose to write because it’s a way of making something unique out of something mundane. I choose to share because we’re not alone.

Thanks to all who’ve supported, read, commented so far.


March 2021

Day 27. A poem for my young self.

A celebration in verse

I wrote a poem to my newborn self. Something of a reflection in time and what I would say to her if she were in my arms today. Here is the English version with a Greek one to follow. I want to thank you all for following my 27 post challenge. I will continue to post interesting and provocative work in the year to come. Join me and feel free to share and comment.



If I were to gaze upon my younger self I would give her the warmest embrace.
Welcome to this crazy world we live in kiddo.
Pleased to meet you amazing girl with the caramel curls and those eyes so green they’re like
a thousand olive trees, swishing in the wind.

If I were to whisper to my young self, I would tell her how much I love every single part of her. Nothing is flawed nothing is tainted, you’re perfect.
You are worth it.
Every single day.

If I were to meet my newborn self I would tell her that she has more strength in her little finger than 10 men combined. You’re a superhero.
Damn girl you gonna take over the world.
And then I would twirl with her in my arms till she giggled a little.

If I were to speak to my newborn self I would say to her: never doubt your heart and mind.
You are one of kind. A diamond in the rough, so tough
Yet soft and delicate like a spring flower.
You won’t cower to the ones telling you what and how to be.
No way no how.
You will fight like an amazon and honor your tribe.
Your tribe is your people, your friends, your lovers your mother and father.
Some will betray you and lose your trust but never let your heart get tough.
Be soft with those who don’t get it and don’t let it steal your compassion and passion for life.
There will be strife.

People will want to hurt you because they can’t love themselves.
But remember you are my star in the sky.
I look at you for wisdom because you don’t let anyone break your stride.
You are fiiiiine sister, don’t let anyone get outta line.
I worship the ground you tread on, because you’re in my head telling me what is right and what is wrong.
You don’t falter. You know damn well where you want to go.
Don’t let go of your dreams sister.
Don’t let go of your innocence your laughter.

No one can come after that.
Like a drop of a hat.
I fell for you.
Those dimples they cripple me as I stare at your infinite beauty.

Beautiful girl with the caramel curls and eyes so green thy’re like a field of olive trees
Swishing in the wind.

Αν θα μπορούσα να αντικρίσω τον νεογέννητο μου εαυτό.
Θα με αγκάλιαζα με τόση αγάπη που θα με νιώθω ακόμα και όταν δεν είμαι εκεί
Αν θα μπορούσα να ψιθυρίσω στο νεογέννητο μου εαυτό.
Θα έλεγα: θα σε αγαπήσω όσο κανείς άλλος στο κόσμο.
Αν θα μπορούσα να συναντήσω το νεογέννητο κορίτσι που είμαι, εγώ
Θα της έδειχνα πόση δύναμη έχει στο μικρό της δαχτυλάκι
Θα της έλεγα πόσο αντέχει στις δυσκολίες και στο πόνο όσο κανένας άλλος εδώ
Όχι δε θα της έλεγα ψέματα.
Δε θα της έλυνα όλα τα θέματα
Είσαι πιό δυνατή από αυτό.

Αν θα μπορούσα να μιλήσω στο νεογέννητο μου εαυτό
Θα της έλεγα…

Είσαι υπέροχη έτσι όπως είσαι
Θα ξαφνιάσεις πολλούς και δεν θα μπορέσουν να σε κατανοήσουν.
Μα μη πτοείσαι.
Δεν είσαι για τους λιποψυχους εσύ  
Με τη μπούκλα τη ξανθιά θα αφήνεις ανέμελα τα μαλλιά σου να ανεμίζουν
Όσο ατενίζεις ενδιαφέρουσες πόλεις και προορισμούς.
Για φαντάσου!
Θα ταξιδέψεις, θα ονειρευτείς θα αγαπήσεις
Αλλά θα τη πατήσεις

Γιατί θα ξεχασεις πόσο μοναδική είσαι.
Αλλά θα είμαι εκεί να στο ξαναθυμίσω
Θα σβήσεις από μέσα σου κάθε οργή και θλίψη και
Θα ξανα αγαπήσεις.

Χωρίς ποιήματα κορίτσι δεν έχει ενδιαφέρον η ζωή
Πέσε με τα μούτρα στον έρωτα
Πέσε με τα μούτρα στην ηδονή
Διάβασε τα πάντα

Αγάπησε τους πάντες και ας μη σου δίνουν τίποτα για αντάλλαγμα
Δε χρειάζεται συνάλλαγμα συναισθημάτων εσύ

Δείξε υπομονή στους κόλακες και στους φτωχούς της ψυχής
Δε ξέρουν από μας.
Αλλά δε πειράζει.

Και ο πιό κακός αλλάζει χαρτί.
Γιατί το φως είναι πιο δυνατό από το σκοτάδι.

Και θα σου έδινα ένα χάδι στο μάγουλο με τη μικρή ελίτσα στο στόμα
Αυτή πού είχες από μικρή
Πού κάπου αχνοφαίνεται ακόμα.

Και θα με κοιτάξεις με αυτά τα υπέροχα πράσινα μάτια
Και θα σε ερωτευτώ.

Με τη μπούκλα καραμέλα και τα μάτια πράσινα σα χιλιάδες δέντρα ελιάς.
Μονομιάς σε αγάπησα χωρίς δεύτερη σκέψη.

Let me say This… Revisited

I wrote a poem about 3 years ago, and It’s the first one I ever performed live at an event called First Time Out, in New York at a cool performance/bar space called Pete’s Candy Store.

I was a very nervous, and shaky first time performer back in November 2016, but I took a chance with an art form and a stage that I had never even dreamed I would ever approach, let alone at the “ripe” age of 38.

This piece is close to my heart because I wrote it for someone I deeply care about, who I can now call a dear friend. We went through our ups and downs in life and we ended up floating instead of sinking so I’m dedicating this to my dear friend P. Life has a very strange way of colliding people together who may on the surface seem incongruous.

The more I travel, the more people I collide with. Old friends remain true friends, others fade away, some remain there for a lifetime, through thick and thin, some betray you, some you betray. It’s a never ending cycle of attraction, connection, and sometimes a rare blossoming.



Let me tell you a story about leaving home, about struggling to find a place of your own, Let me tell you about walking miles every day in this crazy city, and asking yourself over and over again is this all there is?

Let me tell you about loving and heartbreak, about standing on your own two feet, about flirtation about opening your heart again about loneliness about doubt and fear, let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking…

There must be more than life to this.

Let me tell you about rejoicing in knowing you have friends who love you and you love them. Let me tell you about poetry and listening to father analyse over and over the importance of poetry…. because talking about your motherland falling apart isn’t that pleasant.

Let me tell you about mother and how she is my best friend.  Let me tell you about laughter in the middle of the street, till your guts hurt and not caring how loud you are cause that shit was so damn funny!  Let me tell you about sex, and passion, lack of intimacy or truth, let me tell you about excuses and mistreatment and unfulfilled embraces, let me tell you about pain. Let me tell you about not wanting to live again.

“let me tell you about sitting alone at night thinking, there must be more than life to this…”

Let me tell you about falling in love and going out of your mind, let me show you loss and tears. Let me tell you about walking alone, and sleeping alone and crying alone and feeling alone even though your not. Let me tell you about countless early mornings sitting in silence breathing and hoping it will all get better.

Let me tell you about waking up with sun in your eyes and smelling the island breeze and wishing you were here with me, diving deeper and deeper into the deep blue sea.

Let me tell you about missing my home, my people, my sun kissed balcony, the aromas of fresh baked bread from the village bakery

salt on my skin

the sound of hundreds of cicadas

drowning the air with their numbing rhythm. Let me tell you about music and dancing, and embracing friends who are far away, and letting your hair down cause…

that’s what life is all about.

Let me show you what I see, what I hear let me share with you my story, and I want you to tell me yours.

Tell me about you, tell me about your dreams and struggles your life and goals, your fears.

are you sitting up at night thinking is this all there is?

Eat with me, drink with me, laugh with me, cry with me, look into my eyes and see there is nothing more beautiful than sitting in silence and knowing, understanding one another and realizing….

Yes that this is ALL there is.


The Long Way Home


I must confess; I’m in love with Brooklyn.

There is something enchanting about Brooklyn evenings that few other neighborhoods in New York City possess.

My bias is not with out an excuse; I’ve lived in the same neighborhood in south Brooklyn ever since I moved to New York from Athens five years ago. Except for a brief stint living in Manhattan in the East Village and the Lower East Side (which I still love), most of my time has been spent south of Prospect Park.

I owe my love of this part of city to my original host and friend from college who introduced me to this multi- ethnic, multi cultural and multi layered microcosm few (thank goodness) still know about.

Simply put it’s a gem.

Nestled in between Prospect Park and the Greenwood Cemetery, this still unspoiled part of Brooklyn is a place where you can say hello to the corner bodega owner, chat with your neighbor while they walk their dog, and see familiar faces walking around the streets on a lazy, Sunday afternoon. I wave to the store owners catching a glimpse of the action in the street every morning when I go to work, but I never think of taking the time to truly explore further.

From what many locals tell me, the neighborhood hasn’t changed that much over the years. Originally an Italian immigrant neighborhood, it is now peppered with a spectrum of nationalities, languages, cultures and religions. A true cultural crossroads. But I needed to know more.

Summer nights are a perfect excuse for a long walk.

One evening after an event in the Greenwood cemetery I took this rare opportunity to take the long way home.

As the sunset burst into a beautiful tapestry of colors; shades of pink, salmon, purple and yellow adorned the early evening sky. The aroma of evening primrose and soft wet soil wafted through the air… I was transported. For a moment I was lifted away from the worries of my New York life and felt like I was walking through the streets of my old neighborhood in Athens. I instantly felt carefree; but the real treat didn’t arrive until the sun set; revealing thousands upon thousands of fireflies signaling to each other in their own mystical code.

I closed my eyes took a deep breath and floated with the sounds of stories being told of the families living in these neighborhoods, of meals shared, travels taken and lives changed forever. This was the first time in my years living in New York that I was absolutely in tune with my surroundings.


Living in such a high strung city, we are used to boxing ourselves in. We end up shielding our bodies and minds from the cacophony of noises, lights, tall buildings, strong aromas; all  of which accost our senses in invasive ways.  We choose to be numb to the big stuff and forget to take a moment to really observe the more subtle aspects of this city. During my walk through my neighborhood, all of that outer noise instantly vanished, and I was able to just enjoy the long walk home.

Words Matter

Des mots faciles des mots fragiles
C’était trop beau

Paroles Paroles by Alain Delon and Dalida

Choose your words wisely. 

It’s a matter of principle, it’s a matter of how we see the world and how the world sees us. Even though so much of communication is non verbal; choosing the words we use carefully is of utmost importance. There is an art to knowing what to say and how to say it, and if need be not saying anything at all.

Words matter; they can hurt or they can heal. A lot is revealed by their tone, their phrasing their intent. The more I write, the more I share through both Greek and English; I’m often called upon to sharpen my pencil and my mind. One wrong word and the whole meaning is altered, the whole feel of what is meant to come through is derailed.

Sometimes silence is the only answer.

The words we use for and about others matter. How we describe others, how we talk about them, what energy we share through verbal communication is as sharp and affecting as any weapon. One word can uplift whereas another can dismantle and destroy. How we express ourselves matters; how we speak to others matters, and how we communicate matters, because as words go, lots can be lost in translation.

Words are slippery and deceiving and like little children need guidance and boundaries to thrive and shine on and off the page. Words have weight, they sting and jab, sooth and caress. Each syllable contains an energy; and knowing how to use that energy is as valuable as any amount of currency, because words are also currency.

Even though so much of communication is non verbal; choosing the words we use carefully is of utmost importance.

Recently I had an exchange with an old lover. I was very cautious about how I wanted to respond to his communication. The right words were not appearing to me in order to carefully convey what I wanted to say in response to his contact. I mulled over it for quite some time before I realized that any words I used were a waste of time, energy, and ultimately I would never properly convey verbally what I desperately wanted to say; so I said nothing. Sometimes keeping one’s words to oneself is the wisest choice.

Words matter, words are fragile and delicate and can bend and break after they have been uttered. Words mean nothing; and they mean everything, and sometimes there aren’t enough words to describe a feeling.

So sometimes silence is the only answer.