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Writing, Life Coaching, Criminology, and more. But I simply do these, I am not these. I just am.

Three dots can say it all…

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Three dots.
A full stop that doesn’t want to be alone.
An ending that continues.
A declaration of an omission; an omission which reverses itself, if decoded by the reader.
A manifestation of cowardice on its one “edge”, but the absolute courage on its other.
Unclear communication on the one side of the coin, pure intercommunication on the other.

A lack-of-words so “wordy”, that includes the completeness of non-lacking.

A mark so liberated and liberating, that gives the absolute freedom to the receivers of the message to interpret it as they please. …

Weekend’s prompt: inner situation=>outer projection

Photo by: Lluís Ribes Mateu /

Lion, lion,
Where are you?
Will you come
out of the blue?

If I kill you,
would this mean
I’m a monster, too

Was your figure
in written formed
just for secrets
to be unexposed?

I am ready
to confront
all the symbols
you enclose.

You exist
for me to see
that my fear
is unreal.

You appear
for me to know
how much
I can “grow”.

When a fear
I project,
there you are
with teeth prepared.

I’m not here
to be eaten,
unless by terror
I’ll be bitten.

Oh, you,
big and wild cat,
you’re a kind of

To Medium

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

Your gate neither attracts me
nor repels me.
I know where it is, I’ll enter
when I’m ready.
I stand as a non-attached apathetic
but caring observer;
equanimity is a great tool,
conquered by toiling undercover.
So, I walked your paths in many
different ways;
a cycle of how to move in you
closes nowadays.
My being is polymorphous, many
oneness-es make my oneness.
Their synergy is harmonious, sending
me many messages.
Decreased satisfaction is a sign
that the tactic has to change.
It doesn’t serve the purpose suitably
anymore; there’s a new phase.
Parts of my system are reformed through
the continuous flow.
A repositioning of the workers is
necessary for a new metron.
Anaplastic skills manifest their
powers to send away

Overturns are more manageable when we are trained

Photo by Chris Yang on Unsplash

She knew that changes are inevitable in life,
so she wasn’t fighting them when they arrived.
There must be a way in which we can be
calmer and capable of managing the unexpected.
What could I do to train myself
and be more effective in the change itself?
What are the athletes doing all the time?
Preparing themselves through practice.
So, why waiting for the changes to come
and not creating them on purpose within daily life?
Why having the great gift of neuro-plasticity
and use it only unconsciously at the last minute?
Neurons can create new synapses between them,
growing, re-organizing, connecting in new ways.
Then I’ll be less stressed about…

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Into the world that is forgotten
replaced by rational medicine,
I walk and watch, I look, I don’t talk;
observing without judging.
It’s not a dream, it’s not a fraud
formed by an illusionist;
I use my other skills to see,
leaving aside my earthly eyes.
A woman’s body is lying down
on a rocky flatbed.
She seems to breathe through
her diaphragm, but nothing else.
It’s like she had inhibited some
of her vital actions.
A kind of hibernation; alive,
but like in standby mode.
The dark cave is neither cold
nor warm as I can sense.
My heart is harmonizing its
beating with the healing silence.
A man enters the cave now,
naturally visiting the woman.
He seems to…

But, what do I know?

Image by Jordy Meow from Pixabay

You’re tired of me. I know.
I sense it when you look at me.
You can’t hide, and I don’t want you to.
— Well, maybe I do. Sometimes —
I see it in your eyes; you believe I’m the source
of all your problems.
I don’t know. Maybe I am.
This morning you gave me that look…
like I steal your vitality, your color;
like your blood is drained, and
I’m the one who made the crack on
your vulnerable fleshy vessel.
I cried after that, you know.
But I didn’t tell anyone.
This is only between me and you.
The pathetic me is not for public view.
I’m a man, after…

Syndromes presented through “fictional” stories

Munchausen Syndrome by proxy

Photo by Tatiana Rodriguez on Unsplash

Elsa is sitting in the waiting room of the veterinary clinic “2VETS”, having her head in her hands and her body moving back and forth. Four more people waited their turn for their pet’s appointment. She finds herself in the center of a comforting “hug” and tearfully recounts all the wonderful times she had experienced in the company of Champ — the wolf-dog that has been her companion for the past 5 years — while receiving the expressions of compassion from the bystanders who touch her on the shoulder, hold her hand and watch her in tears, expressing words of…

A poetic monologue

Image by nonbirinonko from Pixabay

Barbarians, Christians, Franks,
Turkish, Venetians, and British.
My wounds have many names,
but they were all barbaric.
So many people passed and left marks
of dis-respectfulness;
an egoistic need of signaling
that they were there.
No matter what you represented,
you‘re mine now.
I feel so weak and insecure;
who cares about a sacred vow?
Let’s come up with the greatest
I’ll put a cross, you’ll put a minaret,
let’s rape this!
I’ll throw a bomb, you’ll burn
it to the ground.
Elgin will come and say
“I’ll steal what I found”!
You may think I’m angry,
you may think I’m hurt,
that I am disappointed
by this species’ lost bet.
But while barbaric swords were raping
my sacred cup of life,
I stood…

Doesn’t have, doesn’t give; until he is self-fulfilled

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

Far away, in the library of his mind,
there’s a shelf with data about what is love.
The files are under dust and dusty info they send.
To become clearer, the data needed experience.

Far away, in the warehouses of his experiences,
the door with the sign “love” couldn’t have been used less.
That warehouse somehow hadn’t been filled.
Parents didn’t give resources, or he couldn’t receive.

So, with no stock of empirical proof,
he couldn’t recognize if he is loved as an adult.
Where can you turn for nutrients you didn’t get back then? …

A noetic monologue in the sea

Image by Pexels — Pixabay

Well, here I am, you salty healer.
My lips taste like you again.
Do I swim in you, or you are in me?
Sometimes I stand somewhere between.
I came today to listen to your music;
my ears send it to the brain from below your surface.
It has similarities with the one I catch from above;
that great melody composed by the globes.
That’s why when I wholly dive into you,
I sense that your bottom leads to Uranus.
A few more breaths and I could end up in the sky.
It’s not the right time yet; I need more practice.
I visualize Poseidon walking calmly towards me.
His trident’s a reminder…

Anthi Psomiadou

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