Snowflake

You keep laughing at me

because I am afraid.

Afraid of what is coming,

afraid of what is on the horizon,

afraid of the bodies they will leave in our wake.

You keep mocking us,

and judging us for protests.

Tell us that it is childish.

Tell us all those bad names.

As if you have never done the same.

Protesting is a right,

To make ourselves heard.

While you define us by skincolor,

religion, and gender, and everything

else, and you are still telling us

that we are the ones dividing,

while you building registries and walls

and decide the rights of female bodies

and not those of men, and aaaah well

if we tell you our experience,

we were the ones who set out the borders,

am I right?

No I am not going to be able peacefully

and silently accept how you are all raping me

and stabbing me to death, as if smiling at you

makes you stop. Killing. Me.

You are willing to kill 43000 people a year

just because you did not like who saved them.

Isn´t that pathetic?

You are willing to treat people as subhuman and

steal their rights just because you are blind to the truth.

Isn´t that pathetic?

You are willing to push your religion down our troats

just because you want someone to swallow your load of well…

Isn´t that pathetic?

Isn´t it pathetic that you kill the poor because a billion is not enough?

Isn´t it pathetic you kill all our help because a bilion in your name is not enough?

Isn´t it pathetic you kill the earth because your well of billions is not enough?

Yeah you keep calling me names,

like Special snowflake,

like it actually means something.

Like it does not mean you have no more

ammo in your belt, well maybe

except from the guns you are afraid they take

and the lives you not fear will be.

But I am not just one special snowflake,

I am a whole fucking snowstorm of them,

and I would have been a blizzard

if I were able to stand up and take a stand

litterally on my feet.

No I might not be able to stop you dead in your tracks,

but I can settle for being an inconvenience.

And, damned, I will most certainly be just that.

Cause what about us?

What about us?

Damn you, what about us?

Fuck you, what about us?

I am not going to smile or call a nazi simply alt right,

when they are killing me, my friend.

And no it is not a difference of opinion or disagreement

when you are killing me, my friend.

And no it is not okay you tell me that I am subhuman,

don´t deserve the same rights of you, because of who I am,

when that is killing me, my friend.

So don´t ask for some respect when you never once gave some.

And don´t ask for understanding, when you lack it thus.

Don´t ask me for facts and truths, if you only believe the lies.

So please don´t ask me for willingness to grand the unwilling.

So you call me a special snowflake, because I believe

in live and let live, and you don´t.

Because I don´t believe in forcing my beliefs and everything else

on others, and you do.

I will be that special snowflake and I will be that snowstorm

and I will rain you down in the truth and the facts

and show the pain you are putting upon others

and show you the bodies of the people you killed

and I will be the person holding your head up

to no be stuck in the sand again.

And I am not going make you pretend it never happened,

if killing was done in your name.

And I will never pretend it never happened,

and now you won´t be able to too, to do so.

I will be a snowstorm and I will have a legacy in my name

even if no one will never truly know my name at all.

I will be this inconvenient snowstorm, and I think

you will never learn how to avoid me, never ever again.

And I will be this snowstorm and you will only get

to see the summer again when you have lived what I lived

and seen what I seen and I will tell you that winter is

not coming anymore, winter is here.

Winter is here.

To all my beautiful, little, special snowflakes, cheers!

Echt ziek

Wie zijn wij om te bepalen wie echt ziek is?

Wie onze hulp verdient? Wie de trofee mag binnenhalen

voor de kunsten van het ziek zijn bezitten?

Wie zijn wie om te zeggen wat een ander voelt, wat gebeurt

in hun lichaam, in hun hart en in hun hoofd en wie zijn

wij om te zeggen dat ze horen tot de verloren zielen van

de wereld die wij graag negeren en doen alsof ze er

zelf voor kiezen achter de ramen van hun huis

in het duister weg te kwijnen.

Even werpen we een blik op hen, kijken een

kwartier naar hen, oordelen onze oordelen op hen,

en geven onze oordelen over hen.

Jij kan dit ding wat jij al jaren niet kan!

Jij hebt niet wat jij al jaren hebt!

Er is gewoon wat mis met je wilskracht!

Er is niets mis, er is geen onmacht!

Je wilt gewoon niet, wat nou geen energie,

wat nou geen concentratie, strek die benen

en loop, wat nou ik kan niet meer?

Een gezond mens kan veel meer,

je bent een gezond mens! Wanneer ik dan protesteer,

vraag zie je dan niet meneer, dat wat binnen zeer doet,

je niet altijd van buiten ziet.

Maar dat is de wereld, we oordelen voor we weten,

we denken al de info te kennen en gaan nooit op onderzoek

uit, en we kijken vooral niet naar de waarheid of naar

een boek waarvan de kaft niet al aanspreekt.

Je ziet mij en je ziet een rolstoel en iemand te dik

naar je zin, en je denkt, mijn God die is lui, want een

mens al doet om niet te hoeven sporten of bewegen

en om gewoon een beetje te blijven liggen en niet

te werken en hun handje op te houden voor gratis geld

(waar men amper van rondkomt maar ik ben er

blijkbaar miljonair van geworden en moet niet vechten

om maar uit de schulden te blijven.)

en maar op de bank boeken te lezen. Je moet ze eens

zien kijken als ik probeer te projecteren in hun brein

dat ik zelfs niet elke dag boeken lezen kan. Er gebeurt

namelijk niets, telepathie bestaat niet, maar mijn god

wat zou dat handig zijn. Dat je mensen kan laten zien

hoe het echt is, want een video geloven ze niet en een foto

doet ze niets en je worden beteken niets meer in deze

koude wereld, waar we tegen mensen vertellen wat

ze moeten doen en ze dan ook vertellen dat zij zelf

moeten weten wat te doen, maar wat ze ook doen

is nooit goed en ik word er zo moe van.

En ik ben al zo moe. Ik ben zo moe en vol fysieke

pijn en watten in mijn hoofd, terwijl ik hier een half uurtje

zit en dit allemaal op schrijf. Steken in mijn rug en mijn

heup en mijn zij, allemaal daar enkel omdat ik een hobby

liefde heb voor rijmelarij. Mijn gedichten, mijn ziel,

Zo diep in mij, zijn nou weken onaangeroerd in mijn

brein omdat ik zo graag in bed ligt en mijn handje ophoud.

Nee ik ben niet sterk misschien maar ik vecht harder

dan jij kan zien, elke dag weer, opnieuw en opnieuw en

opnieuw en opnieuw en…. Mijn god wat maakt het uit,

we willen het toch niet zien. Waarom zouden we het willen zien?

Waarom zou je ooit proberen om mij te willen zien?

Nee we geloven liever dat chronisch ziek niet kan gebeuren,

Wij geloven liever dat het mee valt, dat ziek zijn een keuze is,

Dat iedereen zich beter kan denken, dat je maar niet ziek wordt

als je maar gewoon positief bent! Dat je alleen maar ziek blijft

als je niet genoeg probeert om beter te worden. Nee stel je voor

dat we de realiteit onder ogen kunnen zien en beseffen dat iedereen

ziek kan worden, ja chronisch ziek kan worden, en dat iedereen de

kans heeft nooit meer beter te worden. Mijn god, we hebben geen

controle! Geen macht! Geen manieren de baas te zijn over dit!

Hoe zouden we dat moeten geloven in een wereld waar we denken

dat alles de oorzaak is van keuzes en niets van onmacht en dat

arm zijn een optie was op een formulier die we intikte toen we

onze leven gingen invullen. Ja als wij dat blijven denken, als

dat de aandacht is die wij de wereld schenken dan snap ik

wel waarom ze zeggen: Jij kan best gewoon gaan lopen hoor, mijn vriend,

en een tik voor mij neerzetten in een andere box die ik blijkbaar

voor mijn leven had ingevuld zonder dat ik wist dat ik dat ooit

gedaan had. Ja ik ben spontaan genezen, beter, geheeld, zonder

al mijn pijn en zonder al mijn zorgen. Wonderlijk hoe dat brein werkt.

Bodytrap

24 hours and I am counting the seconds,

Almost 24 hours I am spending here.

Trapped in this bed and trapped in this body,

Trapped in a life that doesn´t want me here.

I was the coating but I lost my sugar,

I was the hopeful and I lost my will to…

And even though I am staring

To everything that still makes me smile,

I feel bored, I feel like a fool.

God I miss dancing and I miss singing and I miss walking

On the beat of my own rhytm, I miss just standing up and

walking over and just getting there like a normal human being.

24 hours and I am trapped in my own body

24 hours and I am stuck inside my brain.

Plants are twisting around my legs, my arm and

I can´t stop thinking and I am going insane.

I was the scone but the cream was forgotten,

I was the words but now I hold my tongue

Cause I feel wholly unmanagable,

I feel like a failure of everything

And I know you told me that I was wrong.

I miss the music that once graced my ears and I miss

watching show the entire day, wasting it away, and I

miss writing whenever I felt the need too as I always did.

God I miss it. I miss being me, although I did not know

Who me was, at least I felt I could find out. Now I am

just trapped in a body, trapped and I can´t get out.

Yes I do miss it, all the things you never knew I had a

reason for missing, But I keep fighting and yes I will 

Always keep on wishing.

Grab it not

No, ´Grab me by the pussy is not a joke,

It is not locker room talk, no Alpha male stuff,

I was only 6 years old.

Let it sink in.

6 years. Old.

Or young.

When a male Alpha´ed his less than whatever

is the last Greek letter in that Alphabet behaviour

On my itty bitty self.

My crime for being female.

My punishment for being a child.

You don´t say it´s toxic masculinity

When you dare open your mouth and blame me

For being raped when I was nothing more than a baby,

Not an adult in any

Sense of the word.

Or make excuses for their behaviour.

Tell me men do not know better.

The fact that you think you need to make excuses, tells me,

Men know better but they just don´t care.

Or when I am again sexually assaulted and

A bit after that again raped and

Abused and beaten by different men.

Could you not hoover over these predators and say:

“This is bullshit. No man should behave this way.

And no man held to normal standards of humanity does.”

Instead you say:

“How could you let it happen it to you again?

How could you let yourself get into harms way?”

As if I had a choice in the matter,

As if 50% of the world is not basically populated with men,

And you all are kinda hard to avoid

Or ignore

Or open about the fact whether you are a rapist or not.

And when I assume you are not, I am too trustworthy.

And when I assume you are, I am not trustworthy enough.

I can´t win.

I am the sum of my parts and nothing,

No nothing

More.

I am a pussy to grab,

A boob to lick,

A back to throw against the wall,

A head to smash against the pavement.

And when one of my assailants

Suddenly becomes a neighbour

You ask me why I smile when I see him in the hallway,

You ask why I just didn´t move

House

As if I could move.

10 years after he threw me on the ground

And I still could not move.

How symbolic.

I almost locked myself up inside my house,

A little scared and angry mouse

Flinching when I heard his voice on the balcony.

No ´grab my pussy´ is not a joke.

It´s toxic masculinity.

There are so many women in this world,

We walk amongst you all with secrets in our hearts.

Scars and wounds of predatory behaviour

And it will be a start, just a start

If you could understand

That this all starts with men

And yes all so women,

Who think

That someone saying that grabbing a pussy

Without consent

Is a joke

And not a worry

For every women you have ever seen.

I was raped. I was maybe broken,

Maybe damaged, maybe anything when they got to me,

But I was not weak,

And I was not the blame.

I was just a paw in a game,

So feel ashamed,

For talking this way.

I will no longer feel shame for the way I got treated

And maybe one time I will dare stand up

And walk over to look you in the eye

When you joke about grabbing a pussy, A D-cup,

A whatever the fuck without consent and ask you

To try again, I dare you to touch me while not having my consent.

But until then,

You are the idiot womenhater who lets a man

Grabbing your daughters vagina without your consent

Run for president.

What doesn´t kill me costs 1 pound at the 7/11

I still don´t understand

How it got so out of hand

And the blame was enough to go around.

And I still don´t get

How you fill in what I said

Even when I never made a sound.

I still don´t understand

How we got from this argument

Into a world where we just point fingers.

And I still this stinging pain

When I remember how it all played

Out and the truth never seems to linger.

But I have no doubt

I am not the one to open my mouth

And turn the tables around

Until we all can peacefully sit down.

But even though I miss

Out on what was us and what is,

I can no longer fathom to film

The reality beyond reality cause it will.

Kill me.

Yes, it will kill me.

I still didn´t say the words

You so ademently said you heard,

I did not turn this into a game of bad guys.

And I still see, see the truth,

How you not see the things I do,

Turn back into your worlds and call mine lies.

You shoved words into mouths,

Explanations, reasons, things that were

Done that got another frame of looking at it

And I am not sure

How all the things you turn to,

Twist into something else, doubts perhaps

About the truthfullness of the simplicity

Of the words that were actually said.

I was not allowed to have a problem with anything,

Case solved. Prosecution rest.

You did not mean to, I know you didn´t.

But you did, and never opened your eyes to any of it.

You saw not me talking about an issue but an attack.

Even though every time you tell me off

I don´t assume a knife in my back.

Why am I not allow to point out something?

Anything?

Can I say nothing?

I want to say something.

But I have no energy

To fight a battle if it seems

To end up hopeless hopelessly

And it will tear right down in the heart of me.

But even if I might cry

And somedays it feels like I will die,

I find these days that I smile,

Even though your choice was not mine,

It was not mine.

It might not kill me after all.

For I rather die

Then bend my head before your eyes

Bend my truth before your wrongheld beliefs.

I am a lot but not a thief

To my own brand of sanity.

You are not a bad person,

You are wrong and misinformed,

Never really tried to listen to my words.

Never really tried to see it my way before

And after this.

Never tried it after this.

Never tried it after this.

Never tried it after this.

It might not kill me but occasionally it hurts like hell…

(And I still don´t understand)

Through the air

I was edged in your name.

I was edged in your life.

But your truth that now remains

Is no truth of mine.

I tried, and tried in vain

To dispel what you said I said

Which I said no times, not the same

And without your words.

For me it was not about blame,

But about being heard and understood.

To unrevel the blemishes and stains,

To again see eye to eye

And when I extended my hands to you

Through the sky,

You just slapped them away, turned your backs,

No goodbyes.

As if my tears were never crying.

You told the world that it was me who left,

In smoke of silence,

While you pretended my nonexistence,

I ignored it in defiance.

You plead the 5th, you plead ignorance.

But if it is you who left you and not I who left you

(Anything other than bereaved),

Why do you expect that it be me who chases you

(To the edge of eternity)?

It is that simple and it is less than what you make of it.

And maybe we need to talk about the shoe that fits.

I don´t think you´re “the bad guy”

You´re just misunderstood

And you twisted my words

And the letters you took.

I never said you ever

Did everything

Wrong!

Or was every time you scolded me

A reflection of what you,

You thought of me

And the things I do?

Always,

Eternally?

Internally?

Now when in suddentity one thing seems to define us all,

I can´t find myself waiting on the other side of the wall.

When everything turns Berlin, willing-ly.

It is not my world to force myself upon,

If with every turn you make,

You tell me you do not want me there,

And on face value I take

The words and actions you provided me with

So be clear and surely be true.

Because that is the way that I breathe,

That is the thing I do.

Because actions speak louder than words

And your words are all unspoken.

I once thought we were more than bloodties,

But more now seems easily broken.

Well I have to tell you blood runs thicker than water and

That blood still run thinner than a foundation properly cemented.

One little thing and it floats away,

One toe out of line,

One negative thing to say

Is enough to leave me declined

Like I was never

Worth the effort

From the start,

Just because of that single moment,

Me telling you instead of you me,

That this made me feel wrong.

It was not my final decree.

This aftermath

Still seems to

Confuse me.

But paint me like a bad guy if you want,

As I pose for you, throw my hands in the air.

I extended my hands through space and time,

But I stopped trying when I stopped finding you there.

Onzichtbaar Ziek

Natuurlijk ben ik Onzichtbaar Ziek!

Natuurlijk want jij ziet mij niet

In mijn bed met mijn gordijnen dicht.

Koptelefoon en rust verplicht.

Ja ik ben Onzichtbaar Ziek,

Maar ik zie meer dan jij nu ziet.

Een wereld ombekend die jij passeert,

Een bloem geroken, een boek vereert.

Ik ben Onzichtbaar Ziek,

Ik mis soms zo veel, dat wist jij niet.

Zoals de keren dat jij mijn deur vinden kon.

De vriend die jij was voor het begon.

Was ik maar niet Onzichtbaar Ziek,

Misschien spaarde het mij veel verdriet.

Toch heb ik meer geleerd dan verleert.

Een kracht gevonden onevenaart.

Mijn lichaam, mijn tempel.