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.