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.

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.

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.

 

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.)

aim

i am furious so easily these days
i’m afraid i’ve started to grow
razorblades in my palms and a dagger
beneath my tongue that aims and
lashes out, laced with poison
i've known you for so long; i know
just where your skin is softestwhere it breaks the easiest and
like a domino, i can make you collapse
with a single flick of my hand.


these days i wake up with an urge
to set fire to the things i hold close
just to see how long it takes for them
to turn to molten ashes; for them to
run and never look back.
each morning i see your picture
and wonder if today is the day
you finally see how dark and horrible
i am; if today is the day you see
how much time you've wasted
on a lost cause.

wednesdays

on wednesdays she looks translucent

her eyes reflecting everything she sees

you have to look twice to notice her

it’s on wednesdays her bones turn brittle

her feet sinking deep into the ground

she leaves dust when she walks

on wednesdays she counts down to midnight

coils up as her hands turn ice blue

she closes her eyes and sees snow

it’s on wednesdays the mirrors are empty

and she leaves no fingerprints behind

she’s stopped touching what she can’t feel

on wednesdays she’s acting out a half-life

 just a ghost, waiting to be roused

after a day of chasing shadows

thursdays are the ones she breathes

and touches until her skin is blistered

red, like the blood pumping through her limbs

(thursdays are the reminders

you’re alive, they scream.

you’re alive.)

colour

it's messy inside my head
a lot of effort goes into looking this composed,
but drop by at three a.m. and
you'll see the cracks


it's the stains i've tried to get rid of
but they just keep coming back
and in the daylight you'd paint me
adequate - i blend in rather well


but when the darkness comes
and the quiet seeps in through the floor boards
i lose the keys and the doors start rattling


(l e t m e o u t l e t m e o u t)


it's messy inside my head
there's things here you don't want to see and
thoughts you don't want to hear



what happened to me, i ask
in the eye of the storm when there is
a stillness in my limbs and a lull
in the back of my throat



wasn't i full of colour, i think
didn't they think me full of promise


is this all there is, i wonder
is this all there is



there used to be a time
when i spent my days dreaming
instead of locking myself away

strangers

sometimes i am torn
between which words to pick
my thoughts race and break every speed limit,
inside my rib cage; a fire that won’t go out no matter
how i try to dim the lights.


there is no on and off switch on my soul
i want to find the pause the rewind
so i can make sense of the click shutter flash;
of the thoughts that race me by,
faster than the light, quicker than a heartbeat.



but i am a bookshop after dark
filled with secrets and worlds to be discovered
yet on lock down, behind chains and switched off lights
there’s a password on my heart to keep the strangers out.

(everyone’s become a stranger now)

journey

tangled locks of hair wrapped around my blackened fingertips

the same that have smoothed out  the lines on your forehead

and have left dark shadows inside the dimples in your cheek

i’m not an artist and the world won’t know my name

but right now you are my canvas and i want my fingers to

map out a journey across your knuckles and down your spine

(and behind your ear, i will leave my name)

(in case you get lost and need to find your way back to me)

not good enough

tomorrow i will lock the door and
carve the words into my ribcage
an endless serial number that scatters
over the plains of my chest


it will say "not good enough"
and it will curl around every edge
and it will rush through every vein
like an ink spill, it will spread
and like quicksand, every breath
will draw me deeper and deeper

look close, you'll see the flood
not good enough, it will read
in the palm of my hands
not good enough, it will say
between the folds of my skin

not good enough
not good enough
not good enough