There were only three streets. Streets that were hot enough to melt the sky into our hands,
adorned with broken glass, thorns, yesterdays and dirty feet. Our small, laughing bodies,
warped by the gloating heat, spewed across metres and into mirages. Running into prickling
bush and steep drops, high jumps and hard falls, flesh wounds and the salty tears that
burned them. We ran into life. We ran with open arms and grins that tired our faces. We ran
until our heartbeats limped and our legs fell asleep. We ran to. We ran for. We ran with. But
now, all we ever do, is run away - from these three streets.
Tammy is trying to figure out this life thing and poetry seems to be giving her a hand. She’s a third year Multimedia and Visual Arts student from South Africa. She was born to be a creative and isn’t really good at being anything else. She loves long, profound conversations, daydreaming for new ideas and learning to do whatever she can with whatever she has. She’s thrilled to be here.
Painting by. Wincenty Trojanowski (Maximilianplatz in Munich at night, 1890)