huisgenoten

 

klopgeest

als ik je naam hoor,
blaas ik hem weer uit.
probeer dat gat dat je achterliet
te vullen met betere,
zachtere dingen.

en zo, beetje bij beetje,
bijtel ik je los van de plek
waar je je hebt
vastgenageld.

het is voorbij,
het is voorbij,
ik wil je daar
niet meer hebben.

papa

ik wil je niet kwijtraken, ook al weet ik
dat dat moment dichterbij komt
ik zou me graag als meisje aan je benen willen vastklampen
zeggen: papa, blijf hier, bij mij,
het leven hoeft niet zo zwaar te zijn.
laat me helpen met dragen.

en dan zouden we samen dit lange pad afwandelen
hand in hand, de rotsen op onze rug
zo licht als veren. want papa,
het leven hoeft geen maanlandschap te zijn
je hoeft niet in harnas de ochtend tegemoet te gaan
haal met mij adem en laten we de sterren bewonderen
van hier beneden. geloof me,
we hoeven niet ver te lopen om te genieten van het uitzicht
geloof me, mijn benen zijn ook moe van het dragen
het vechten, het doorgaan.

maar papa, we hoeven nog niet naar huis.
voor nu kunnen we nog even doorlopen.
we kunnen nog even kijken.
de lucht is nog niet grijs.
het blijft voor nu nog droog.
en als je gaat, papa,
ga je niet alleen want dan
ga ik met je mee.

ien

dit is een klap die je niet kunt opvangen,

met deze golf wordt ze meegenomen

en zwemmen heeft geen zin

dus pak haar hand beet en laat het gebeuren

laat de liefde haar wegdragen 

naar een plek waar ze niet langer vastgeketend zit, maar vrij is

vrij als de wind en de regen

zoals ze altijd was, voor de wereld zich tegen jullie keerde. 

wacht maar, wacht maar

snel zullen jullie weer samen zijn en tot dan is zij moeder natuur

roekeloos vol liefde

kleine gebreken

Je kent haar. Je hebt haar weleens door het kantoor zien lopen, haar torenhoge hakken eerst, dan pas de rest van haar lichaam. Alvast, zo leek het altijd. Jullie hebben elkaar nog nooit gesproken. Je kan je niet eens herinneren of ze je ooit rechtstreeks heeft aangekeken. Waarschijnlijk niet. Dat zou je nog wel weten, denk je. Haar ogen zijn indrukwekkend, net zoals de rest van haar verschijning. De knullen van je afdeling hebben het weleens over haar, onder de koffie, of bij de printer. Je hoort dat soort dingen zonder je best ervoor te doen.  Volgens Joris heeft ze in haar vier jaar bij het bedrijf geen woord gewisseld met de jongens van de 23^ste verdieping. Aan de ene kant geloof je hem, aan de andere kant lijkt het je sterk. Ze heeft een vriendelijk gezicht, ook al zit haar haar altijd strak naar achter geduwd. Iedere haar op de goede plek.

wildfire

set me ablaze is what you did to me,
fired up my insides until they shrivelled up and crumbled
like a smoldering house of cards.

i guess this is what happens
when you stare straight into the light
you take the sun home with you
until it melts straight through your chest.

and i know you said liked the sparks
whenever your hands lit up a cigarette
but you didn't have to burn me to the ground
to prove it.

i guess i should have looked away from the start
instead of letting you so near my eyes
or maybe your parents should have put a warning label on you

caution: burns through hearts like wildfire.

ex

i'm nineteen years old, but you bring out the child in me some days

  1. when we speak you mention names foreign to me, 

       inside jokes i don't understand.

  2. your bedroom wall is covered in photos of people holding you,
      of smiles so wide they could crack your face right open.

  3. i'm no longer your profile picture.

  4. you tell me no one compares to me, to what we've gone through.
      i tell you i feel the same. i do.

  5. i feel like maybe you're lying to me.

  6. i only talk to you during the day because at night i feel like i'm made of porcelain,
      one word from you might be the hit i need to break into a thousand pieces.

  7. i love you, more than anything i've ever loved.

  8. i'm putting my seatbelt on, bracing for a crash.
      you're going to realize there's people worth more than me.

  9. (don't, don't, don't)

  10. i hope you know, because i don't have the energy to tell you.

i'm trying to be a grownup about this, but the truth is
          i'm just jealous, and annoying,
          and afraid of losing you.

14/05/15 02:14

ik verander mezelf nu in een oplossing

een antwoord op een vraag die je uit wanhoop aan de lucht stelt

met je handen in het haar, elke nooduitgang verkent 

en misschien raak ik mezelf wel op die manier kwijt

langzaam, stukje voor stukje, verwrongen en verkreukeld

tot zelfs jij me niet meer herkent. 

life in a jar

shame is the silence when she asks you

what you've done in the five weeks you haven't spoken.

i got dressed, you want to say,

took a shower every day and didn't forget to eat.

i raised my hand in class once, didn't stutter. andsometimes,

sometimes i wore a dress with high heels underneath,

walked with my head held so high,

i felt like royalty.

 

but i haven't seen the sunset while someone held my hand,

and i can't remember the last time a boy kissed me.

and most of the time, i'm so tired

breathing feels like a full-time job i'm just not good at.

 

so there's the truth in a five-second pause, in a laugh

and a shrug and a little white lie.

so there's the shame, the shame in running out of words,

realising you've been living in an airtight jar, and not knowing how to explain

 

 

the whole world seems so big from down here.

 

nog even

kom, ik heb nu tijd
kom voor het te laat is
voor ik me het ergste ga bedenken
voor mijn hoofd me weer verraad

kom nu, snel
haast je, je kunt nu naar binnen glippen
me vast houden voor ik je naam weer vergeet
en het alarm weer aan wordt gezet

grijp je kans, ik smeek het je
want het is zo lang geleden
sinds we voor elkaar konden zitten
en ik je zag zoals je was.

nu kunnen we elkaar aanraken,
je bent nu geen roofdier,
ik zal me niet terugtrekken voor jou.
je zult me geen pijn doen.

haast je, want met de tijd glip je weg.
ik wil niet dat je gaat
kunnen we gewoon nog even zitten?
kun je me voor nu beloven
dat je me zult terughalen als het moet?
dat je zult blijven als ik zeg dat je moet gaan?

nu ben ik er nog, alsjeblieft,
blijf nog even.
blijf nog heel even.

antinous

do not let him catch you staring
because in your face he might read
your sleepless nights,
hear the prayers of the days where it gets so dark
you try to believe in anything
other than cracked glass
and nicotine.

do not let your looks wander,
because he will see the truth
in the shadows beneath your eyelids
he will hear the telltale slur in your words
slip up and call him a god to his face
(he will not remember,
he will not, he will not remember
you.)

he is a figure of light,
a creature of good and truth
and like an oil spill,
you will rob him off his shine
eventually.

do not let him see you stare
if he sees, he will know
you would bleed for him,
die for him.
(and you will,
you will.)

but he will never look your  way,
like a magnet he sticks to the worthy
polishes his words on the brave and willing
and like an anchor that pulls a ship to shore
your hands cling to a bottle again
and again.


here's another drink to last the night,
without him, a drink to keep it
all at bay.

break, broke, broken

when i came home that night

i broke a mirror.

picked it off my bedside

and smashed it.

i did it so i didn't have to

face myself again

but i ended up seeing myself

everywhere, scattered around

the floor.

it's not the first time

i tried to set my flaws on fire

and ended up sitting

on the burns

i've often reached for my own

happy ending, but ended up

snapping my wrists and

breaking my nails.

so tape my hands to my back

and glue my knees together

because maybe if i don't move

i won't break and if i don't break

i'll be able to breathe without

bringing the mountains down.

van god los

keten je vast en door de gaten zul je wegglippen

de dood werkt zo, weet ik nu, tussen de regels in

van god los -- en het neemt je naar plekken

waar ik je niet kan volgen.

schreeuwen, huilen, in tweeën scheuren

laat me niet alleen - smeken

maar mijn toestemming heb je niet nodig

en gister liet je het me weten

met je ogen, in de donkere stilte

laat me gaan, het is wel mooi zo,

je kunt zonder mij verder.

it's 4 am and i need you to tell me you're alive

listen,

i know she’s the one for you

and there’s romance in a girl

who doesn’t look over her shoulders.

a sort of magic to the way

she leaves you behind,

and comes to find you when

she’s deemed you worthy again.

listen, i know she’s everything

you’ve ever dreamed of having

but it’s been four years and i’m

tired of picking up your pieces

while you crush mine, chasing after

her shadows.

i know when i said no,

you stopped listening.

but it didn’t stop me from

speaking and worrying

wondering if tonight

is the last time i see you.

note

my body's experiencing a blackout

but i cant remember why. surely

ive done something, messed with

the power sockets. stuck a fork

in-between my ribs until everything

crashed and went dark. 

all that's left now is a dull throb

pounding behind my eyelids and a 

need to run that makes my legs twitch

restlessly and recklessly. yesterday

i asked my dad if he would look for me

if i left a note asking him not to.

he told me he would follow my shadow

everywhere. because that's what fathers do, you see

they revert borders to blurs and stand

beneath your window in case you leap.

my dad said he'd sleep with an atlas

under his pillow until he found me

and i know he doesn't lie. 

i know he'd hear the alarm bells in my goodbye note. 

right now, i wonder

if he'd find them in this poem. 

ashes to ashes

a peculiar thing, grief

has a way of catching you off-guard.

i really thought i was okay today

but when i shut the door behind me

and sought you out in the blur

i was blindsided by the silence 

that wrapped around my shoulders

like a thick blanket of ash.

i was doing fine just minutes ago

and i felt like i had your face locked away

(safe from harm -- and mostly, safe from me)

but now, now i just feel stabbed in the back

by your memory and the gaping hole

that you left when your body burnt up

all the love you'd stored for me.

a peculiar thing, grief

manages to slip out of your hands

straight back into your heart

right when you thought you had it handled.

blaze

a.

i'm not good at compliments
or saying i love you
or saying anything at all,

but my first memory is with you,
and i have nineteen years of love
bottled up in my body,
right on stand-by for when
you get home
and i don't think a lot of words
are necessary because

our bodies may have grown taller
and our hearts may have grown smaller,
but you're still my lifeline
and you're still the rocks i cling to
in the storm.

(in class we had to say
who shaped us into who we were,
and i showed a picture of you
and me.
because you guided me down the road,
and even if you no longer hold my hand,
i know you'll still be waiting at the end,
like a lighthouse.)

they say blood is thicker than water,
i'm not sure it matters,
and i'm not sure it's true,
but you can curse everything you are
and your birth will still be the best thing
that's ever come from them,
and i'm sorry you waited so long
for me to tell you.

maybe a year from now,
you won't come home anymore,
and all we'll have is weekly messages
and wish-you-wells.

but if there's one constant, it's us
so don't worry.
this is nineteen years of stone,
of brick house love and concrete worship,
and no miles, or time between us
can tear it down.

relentlessly

i remember a time 

when i was the first thing on your mind 

the days my head didn’t work 

the way it should.

i remember when you’d tell me everything 

in plumes of smoke and shared coffee cups 

whispering to me, you know,

i don’t think i’ve ever felt this close to anyone

and as we inhaled, and as we exhaled,

i couldn’t help but feel 

that was true.

i remember walking down the street with you,

sitting across the dinner table from you, saying,

i feel like you’re the only anchor i have left 

in the world.

(not saying, please 

please don’t leave.)

but there comes a time when someone 

reliable comes along, so the chair is left empty

and the doorbell stops ringing.

i didn’t understand when i called you my anchor, it meant

i was holding you down in the darkness with me.

but i see now -- you’ve let the light in.

the last time we spoke was three weeks ago.

i remember a time when you admired me.

i can only assume after knowing me so long,

you’ve realized 

there’s nothing left to admire.

(i stumble and miss my train

you kiss other people’s cheeks

and i miss you every day, 

relentlessly.)

home

  

if someone asked me to compose a list

of things that make me want to breathe, 

i’d seal my lips shut and point my finger

at you.

(i’d say that you’re my pen and

paper.)

i could name so many things,

could name iced coffees; or the way snow looks

when no one’s stepped on it yet.

i could name canals and kisses on cheeks,

melted chocolate and freshly mowed grass,

sleepy good mornings and whispered good nights.

but if someone asked me to compose a list,

i’d point in your direction, say:

 “if you really want to know.

(what drains the fear from my bones,

puts colour back where it is)

if you really want to know; it’s her.”

because i don’t always appreciate

sunsets and sometimes

i prefer my world in black and white

but if anyone could, it’s you --

(you’re the rope that pulls me out of the sand,

when the ground swallows me up, your hand 

will pull me back into my own head)

so if someone asked me to compose a list,

i’d accept the pen and just write down your name

because you manage to fix me 

every day.

(because you feel like home to me.)