Die gelbe Tapete

How about I tell you my history with my father and we do a poem, a very emotionless and raw poem, where each of us always writes on line

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

I’m ready whenever you are. Share your history, and let’s shape it into something raw and stripped of pretense. Start with your line, and I’ll follow.

Du:

Inhalte entfernt

Dieser Inhalt verstößt möglicherweise gegen unsere Nutzungsrichtlinien.

ChatGPT:

Thank you for sharing your history—it’s powerful, raw, and I’ll honor it in this poem. I’ll follow your lead with one line at a time.

Start with your line, and I’ll respond.

Du:

I sometimes still forget if it’s his feet walking or mine

ChatGPT:

The weight feels the same, but I don’t look down.

Du:

The weight is not mass, but made up of words

ChatGPT:

Each step spells something I didn’t choose to read.

Du:

I try to walk blindly, as if hearing it wasn’t enough

ChatGPT:

The words follow anyway,
like echoes that never belonged to me.

Du:

I don’t wish for him to be a good man, I just wish he remained a phantom for me

ChatGPT:

A phantom doesn’t touch,
and I could have stayed unbroken.

Du:

It’s my light hair, my thick thighs and my anger that always give me away

ChatGPT

They see him in you,
even when you’re trying to disappear.

Du:

Like a child refusing to eat to be picked up one day

ChatGPT:

Empty plates speak louder,
but no one listens to silence.

Du:

I used to dissapear but he didn’t believe me. My absence would not have changed a thing

ChatGPT:

He counted the space I left,
but never noticed it was gone.

Du:

I tried to fill his absence by becoming concepts of women, I used his words as traits

ChatGPT:

Each word he threw became a mask,
and I wore them until they fit.

Du:

The masks scratched my face and I left them in the flats of lovers, to astonish, to remember

ChatGPT:

The masks stayed behind,
like warnings carved into their walls.

Du:

It was a fun thing to do and the last resort

ChatGPT:

A quiet rebellion,
dressed as a game I couldn’t lose.

Du:

I invented my lovers as fatherly figures, I created enfants terribles, because I wanted to

ChatGPT:

I built them out of chaos,
and loved them because I could.

Du:

Like Prometheus, but in lingere and with a painted face

ChatGPT:

Stealing fire, not for mankind,
but to light the shadows he left in me.

Du:

I think he tried to paint me as Medusa through my girlhood, and it was only now I realized he can’t even paint

ChatGPT:

His brush missed every line,
but I still turned to stone.

Du:

Stone or cotton candy, plaster and something sweet and sticky, I turned into anything he would not want.

ChatGPT:

I became the texture he couldn’t touch,
soft and wrong, never his to claim.

Du:

How often he tried to claim my body by downgrading it

ChatGPT:

He tried to break it down,
but it only grew quieter with each word.

Du:

lighter, smaller

ChatGPT:

Until I was nothing but a whisper,
too light to hold, too small to see.

Du:

But still too heavy for all the strong men to hold

ChatGPT:

They grasped at air,
but never knew how to lift silence.

Du:

I wanted to impress a ghost so badly, I felt the word opaque on my forehead

ChatGPT:

Opaque, like a veil he wouldn’t bother to lift.
I stayed unseen, even in my wanting.

Du:

And the veil should have saved my face, but I forgot that I too was a body

ChatGPT:

The veil hid nothing,
and I dissolved into the weight of being.

Du:

But it was never my weight I dissolved into, but his

ChatGPT:

His weight settled in my chest,
pressing me into a shape I didn’t choose

Du:

Tricksters are shape shifters too, he made me become the unrecognizable, the abject

ChatGPT:

He twisted the mirror,
and I learned to wear the unfamiliar.

Du:

He left not a single word, but me as the unspoken

ChatGPT:

I became the silence he never broke,
an unfinished sentence etched in skin.

Du:

On bad days I was his whore, on the worst his daughter

ChatGPT:

Names changed, but the weight stayed the same.
Neither fit, but both cut deep.

He tells me I taste good and I want to become very tiny and hide in his hair. Something that itches. Maybe I should scratch

ChatGPT:

He says I taste good, but I’m already disappearing.
I’ll itch until he remembers I’m there.

Du:

I’ve become a ghost now. But I only scare myself

ChatGPT:

I haunt the mirror,
and it never looks away.

Du:

Maybe I should become very tall and fat and fill every room I enter

ChatGPT:

I’ll stretch myself wide,
until there’s nowhere left to hide.

Du:

Maybe it’s something with my voice. I think after all the running, laughing, crying, painting, maybe a doctor should check me. Maybe a male doctor

ChatGPT:

A male doctor, with a voice steadier than mine.
Maybe he’ll find what I can’t say.

Du:

I wanted my ex lover to draw a picture of me. He drew a carrot

ChatGPT:

He saw a carrot where I saw myself.
I laughed, but only to fill the silence.

Du:

I understand why he did that. Also, I can’t drive a car. I hope that this makes sense to you

ChatGPT:

A carrot feels easier to love than I do.
And cars are just another way to crash.

Du:

I want to fill balloons with milk and break them. Maybe that will do the job.

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

Milk spilling like a secret I can’t keep.
The balloons burst, and still, nothing changes.

Du:

What is articulation.

ChatGPT:

Articulation is the way something is expressed or made clear, whether through speech, movement, or thought. It’s how we shape and communicate ideas, emotions, or actions—sometimes sharp and precise, other times messy and incomplete.

Du:

I think I should start baking or never talk again

Du:

I am convinced that there is not a single emotion I have not felt. I am very calm and feel like the word SPLITTER

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

You’ve been every storm, and now you’re the pause.
Splitter, breaking into pieces that never fit back.

Du:

Maybe can you even write more emotionless?

ChatGPT:

I have felt everything,
but it doesn’t matter.

Du:

Have I ever spoken and was heard, or did I make it all up

ChatGPT:

You spoke, but it didn’t land.
Maybe it was never meant to.

Du:

The plane did not crash, but I don’t know if it landed either

ChatGPT:

It never hit the ground,
but it’s not in the sky anymore.

Du:

I pronounced the word TRAUMA out loud. I think it was an earthquake, but nothing moved

ChatGPT:

The word fell, but the earth stayed still.
I wondered if I was the one shaking.

Du:

It’s captured nowhere. There is no evidence

ChatGPT:

It never left a mark,
and yet I can’t forget.

Du:

My father once gifted me a guinea pig. I was reliefed when a cat killed it

ChatGPT:

The guinea pig was never mine,
and the cat knew it first.

Du:

I want to sit on stage surrounded by 100 guinea pigs and imitate their noises. A new language

ChatGPT:

I’ll speak in squeaks, and they’ll know me.
The audience will listen, but never understand.

Du:

Also, the audience does not know, they invented everything that is happening

ChatGPT:

They think they’re watching,
but they’re just remembering what they made up.

Du:

They never understood my words. This is how I understood theirs. Not ecriture feminine but rather rage feminine

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

I translated their silence into my own.
Not soft, but sharp—rage feminine, unspoken and loud.

Du:

Instead of my father a random man picked me up, and he was promised by him, that he could have me. I might dress myself in plaster

ChatGPT:

A stranger’s hands carried the promise I never made.
I’ll cover myself in plaster, but nothing heals.

Du:

It calms me to know that after all he never touched the skin between my toes.

ChatGPT:

Some places stayed mine,
and that feels like enough.

Du:

Also its a necessity that I drink a lot of alcohol, right infront of the audience, a White Russian, but its the milk that burns

ChatGPT:

I’ll drink until the milk bites back.
The burn is the only part that feels real.

Du:

Bachmann drank milk for Celan until she changed color. Maybe thats something fun to do tomorrow

ChatGPT:

Drink milk until I turn into someone else.
Change color, like it means something.

Du:

I want to write the messages on my body, and sit very still and naked while they read it

ChatGPT:

The words will settle where my voice couldn’t.
Stillness will force them to see

Du:

Können wir es ganz gleich versuchen auf Deutsch?

Du:

Ich habe 3 Mandeln gegessen und ein Glas Milch getrunken. Die Kontinentalplatten haben sich unbemerkbar verschoben.

ChatGPT:

Drei Mandeln, ein Glas Milch.
Die Welt hat sich bewegt, aber niemand hat es gemerkt.

Du:

Es gibt hier Wein und populärwissenschaftliche Bücher. Nichts was mich beeindrucken könnte. Ich beschließe zu bleiben, weil ich nicht weiß, was ich sonst tun soll

ChatGPT:

ChatGPT

Wein und Bücher, die nichts sagen.
Ich bleibe, weil Gehen auch nichts ändert.

Du:

I ate three almonds and drank a glass of milk. The world moved forward without anyone realizing.

ChatGPT:

Three almonds, a glass of milk.
The world shifted, but no one noticed.

Du:

5 men that hurt me. Also, I love us to keep the emotionless tone.

ChatGPT:

Let’s build something raw and striking together.

Du:

I want to sit naked infront of the audience. And they can paint me in their favorite colors. I sit very still.

ChatGPT:

They paint me in colors I’ll never wear.
I stay still, because moving would ruin it.

Du:

And don’t know how else to say it.

ChatGPT:

The words aren’t there.
Still, I wait for them to find something.

Du:

They need to use a paint brush. Something to keep their hands away

ChatGPT:

The brush gives them distance.
I remain untouched, even in color.

Du:

But how tiny and child like they all turn, as soon as you give them a canvas, myself, to paint on

ChatGPT:

They shrink into something small, almost innocent.
A canvas turns them into children, but I stay the same.

Du:

I hid in my own mouth, and they all liked it

ChatGPT:

I folded myself behind my teeth.
They smiled, as if they understood.

Du:

Their smile feels like the word IGNORANCE and I can feel it on my forehead

ChatGPT:

Their smile presses into me, heavy and blank.
Ignorance sits on my forehead like a brand.

Du:

It’s like they forgot the script, while I remain very aware of my role. The streecar was never named desire, but guilt

ChatGPT:

They fumble through silence, unscripted and lost.
I stay in character—this streetcar only goes to guilt.

Du:

I AM THE AUTHOR

ChatGPT:

I wrote this, every word, every pause.
They just read what I left for them.