Brainburn

I'm fed up with reliving 

interfering with living.

Memories that had their moment

taking up more of time.

Setting up home inside

my brain like they live there.

Leaving candy wrappers

all over the ground.

I'm fed up with my mind

giving space to those 

that don't deserve it.

People that already 

took up too much of me

like they own my mind.

Dragging mud all over my body

with their dirty shoes.

Not a symphony 

but a cacophony of noise.

A barrage of voices 

that all wanted to be heard.

No one willing to take a seat 

and wait their turn

because screaming is

what they are uses to.

I wish that I could 

drown them out with my pain.

I crush them hard with my trauma.

Hoping they will feel an inch

of all they cut into me.

I bury them under all my mental illness.

Let them feel lost like I did.

Let them cry and not feel sated

and burn themselves out.

But memories are translucent

and self flagellation.

Simple thought that just haunts me

and me alone.

Life's cruelty is that they

continue their lives.

At least I get the satisfaction 

of watching them

Die. 

The failure of therapy

Pt 1

Him

You keep waltzing into my head 

like you own the place,

With that smug look of satisfaction 

planted on your face,

The same way that you always do.

So very typical of you 

and your need to control the narrative. 

Voices that echo through my brain,

Mocking me for not being sane.

There's a sharpness to how you detonate. 

There's a freshness to how I remember pain.

You took the hinges off the door.

(Like you used to.)

Broken barriers scattered on the floor.

(Like they used to.)

I asked myself who am I even keeping them for.

(Like I used to.)

You never change. 

I tried to change. 

Pt 2

They say therapy helps

Is it healing when it's on repeat?

Am I unbattered if it's now me 

that doles out the beat-

ing and defeat

and you give me nothing?

Is it healing to ask me how I feel,

just to tut a response that's so unreal?

Pen me down and then forget

The appointment 

again and again and again.

What's the point

If he can just walk all over me 

and set my world on fire?

He's a battering ram 

and you're a professional liar.

Both on repeat and

I'm getting tired 

of hearing your voices

Go on

Again and again and again and again. 

Again and again and again and again. 

Again and again and again and again. 

Again and again and again and again. 

I'm not going to keep chasing a new appointment. 

Finding self

They used to say that in the darkness 

you can find yourself.

But all I found, I found wanting,

and doesn't feel like myself.

Little dots inside my brain

where thoughts were meant to be.

Open skies and brightening lights 

that no longer set me free.

Constant changes in my body

that require attention and care.

I no longer know the words

to explain how it has me scared. 

So if I need the dark to find myself,

leave me out of it.

Show the sky and all of the light

and I will be content.

Daddy Rotten

The way all your teeth 

rotted out your face 

was entirely expected.

Lies are like bile eating

your enamel right through. 

And since 

you wouldn't know the taste

of truth, cause you don't 

speak it,

Rot is the only thing

inside of you.

Sunlight

I live for small things now.

Things that fit in my palm.

A beam of light 

that plays on my ceiling.

Bird noises 

outside of my window. 

An “I remember you.”

Things that 

make me remember 

that the world exists,

and I exist,

and that I haven't blended

into the surroundings 

until the point of being unrecognisable. 

Like a premature death

before my last breath.

Or a ghost, only seeing,

and never touching.

But I still wish I knew 

when my last moments 

would be

long before they came.

My last concert.

My last glass of alcohol.

My last shower standing up.

I'm made of those lasts now.

Little moments of past 

slowly drifting away from my present.

Things the future will never know. 

“Back in my day” sentiment

that was too impatient to wait

until In my day was over.

Time melting into each other.

Will I, in 20 years, say;

“Back in my day 

I watched 

the sun move over my ceiling

to tell me another day has passed.

Back when we could see the sun?”

Maybe a remark on

climate change will fit better

in another poem.

But I don't think so.

Cause everything is connected,

even small things and the sun.

(This is a poem about light)

Closed doors

I will never desire

the taste of your clenched teeth 

that bleed 

with repressed emotion.

I will never let

the black of my closet

throw a punch at

me like before.

Because the fact is 

that being true to myself 

is chasing away hell

and that's not a weird notion.

So no, 

I won't obey

and hide myself away

anymore. 

De verkeerde masker

Ik rot hier weg.

In mn donkere hol.

Genegeerd en vergeten. 

De beloftes klinken hol.

Ze vinden mij belangrijk

en ze zien mij zo graag,

maar merken het niet eens

dat ik uit hun zicht vervaagt.

Woorden zeggen eigenlijk

niet heel erg veel

als al je daden 

mijn levenslust weg steelt.

Nee, de stilte klinkt veel luider.

Heeft je woorden weggepest.

Je adem op mijn nek 

Heeft mijn leven besmet.

queer rage

If I rage you always call it predictable.

If I chose to love, you rage.

Something is wrong

Either way.

The problem is I exist. 

I exist with opinions and feelings.

I'm a truth you can't sanitize.

You might want to bury me in

Your lies

And repression. 

But I won't go down choking like you. 

If you think my words are too sharp,

Good. My point is made.

My pen is a whetstone,

Not an embrace.

I'm not here to make you feel loved. 

Moe

Een angstaanjagende verstilling.

Wie had dit nou bedacht?

Strikte bedrust.

Geen enkele inspanning.

Overmacht.

24 uur dezelfde kleur.

24 uren hetzelfde ingedeeld.

Mijn hoofd voorbij een mist.

Eerder drijfzand.

Vergetelheid gekweekt.

In het kommetje van mijn handen

Lag mijn hoop onvoorstelbaar stil.

Ik deed mijn ogen dicht

Tegen het leven 

Dat onvermoeid door ging.

Wat betekend onvermoeid nu nog?

Het is niet iets wat ik herken.

Ik zoek een einde

Voor dit gedicht

Omdat ik te moe voor woorden ben.

Axis

In het donker, weggekletst.

In heel veel woorden, uitgelegd.

Dat wat wij niet weten bestaat niet.

Want niets is voor ons onbekend.

Oren waar van alles tussen zit.

Dokters zeggen dat ik aandacht wil.

Er komt veel aandacht van vergeten worden

En de gebrek aan ruimte waarin ik mij bevind. 

Mijn adem is een verzetsdaad.

Ook mijn hart die nog steeds slaat.

Ik heb een doel gevonden voor dit leven.

Een doorn die tot ontsteking overgaat. 

Er zijn veel woorden die je nu kan zeggen, 

Maar ik ben te uitgeput om uit te leggen 

Dat mijn verlangen zich uitdrukt in daden

En de axis van de wereld te verleggen. 

Resist

Pt1

Let's applaud for our gay marriage, 

And then abruptly forget

The queer people barely surviving,

The trans women left for death.

Let's embrace the white picket fence,

And then no longer care

About the blood that watered the gardens

And the lives no longer there.

Why remember who gave us existence?

Who put their lives on the line?

Let's cut ourselves into pieces, 

So we can fit in just fine.

Pt2

Fuck your respectability politics.

Fuck your forgetfulness.

Fuck your willingness to sacrifice, 

Not bodies like yours, but mine.

Fuck your hateful words,

Fuck how you think that I fall short.

I'm going to exist out of pure spite.

I never knew how to be polite.

I won’t be hands held released quickly.

I won’t be pronouns swallowed down.

I won't hold my partners name behind my teeth.

I won't water myself down 

(until my flavour is lost).

I don't want to be accepted.

I don't want to copy myself into your image.

I rather break all of my teeth

Than do any damage

To the person I know I am.

Pt3

My body is a site of resistance.

Not made to fit in, just to breathe.

Scars that turn into leylines 

That turn into a map,

That turn into a history,

Of how my life

Is a form of rebellion.

Of how I hold the gun

Of how I'm still here

Beating the expectations, 

Not the allegations 

Of my queer existence. 

My body is a site of space. 

It needs to expand.

Lungs that need to take everything in.

Thighs that spread.

I am solely here to disappoint.

I can't be a carbon copy.

Nor a pasted version of acceptance. 

My existence is not about you.

Pt4

You just want cogs for your murder machine.

Blood to clean your dirtied streets with.

Empty veins to stash your stacks of gold in.

Unworthy of a simple remembering.

Existences so similar you won't feel regret

For those that are dying, 

you already chose the next

Person in line to be fed 

Into the dollars you didn't need.

Pt5

 

You can try to build your empire on bodies, 

But it won't raise you to heaven,

And it won't make your fall endless. 

Glory

Gun shots leave marks

On the soul of the people. 

You mock the tears

Of those that are grieving

The state of the world 

And the lives that they lost.

Protecting the world 

Shouldn't come at a cost. 

I want to remember all the faces

Of those the world displaces,

Falsely created enemies 

That were just living their lives. 

I want to hear their stories 

In all of their beautiful glory

Before the world erases

And replaces it with lies. 

Blue

It doesn't matter if it rains 

When you're staring at the walls.

If you notice anything at all, 

Only the sounds leak through.

It rains harder in my thoughts. 

Overcast skies and grey clouds,

Thundering words that are too loud.

A sense of cold that doesn't subside.

Overstimulating voices hurt my eardrums.

Quick hellos that cut like a knife

Every time I let the world into my life.

Another sense of normal fraying away.

I feel broken and disjointed. 

Once open connections are now disabled. 

For a small sense of being stable,

Loneliness will be the price.

Just existing, not alive.

Human being

Navigating a broken brain

Is like walking through shards of glass.

Little moments that are meant to cut.

Little moments that have you doubting yourself.

Am I me?

Am I real?

Am I just a moment in time?

I wish my feelings weren’t choking me

But they seem to have an iron grip

Because I can’t stop thinking enough

To even take a breath.

And my dreams have become so so sharp.

Nothing is what it seems 

And everything feels too real.

I'm losing my mind 

In the same way 

Romance novels write about love. 

A slow descent and then all at once.

My vision turned into a kaleidoscope

And I have broken down into 

Parts with no manual to put me back

Into a semblance of a human being.

Bottomline

You better pretend that you're healthy.

You better pretend that you're fine.

You better pretend that you're able

To March your ass right down that line. 

Cause your life is in production. 

Your life needs to be universalised

The same down to every single button.

Nothing is ever yours to decide.

Two and a half children,

That you can barely feed but that's fine.

You are working for someone’s pockets,

Unpaid overtime on that nine to five.

Health insurance that doesn't pay out.

Your entire life is build to decline.

Your back will not keep on carrying you.

Your heart won't make it out alive.

But there is no room for slowing down,

No room for the outliers.

It's a copy and paste way of living,

To keep up until the day you die.

So pop a pill to hide you're disabled. 

If they ask how you are, lie.

Tell them you have never been better. 

Tell them you have nothing to hide.

And if you see someone visibly struggling, 

Chose the words meant best to deride.

Just to make yourself feel better 

Than those who can't hide.

Tell them you can see that they are faking.

Tell them that you know they lie.

Tell them they cost too much money.

Tell them it's better if they died.

It's best to pretend life isn't broken,

If you can hide it being snide.

If you don't think too much about your life,

The things you needed, it denied.

We are all the same cog in the machine.

Yours isn't more important. They lied.

Your productivity doesn't matter. 

Only the bottom line.