woensdag 5 juni 2024

Take me outside

I'm like the tree
That you need to plant. 
I need the growth,
I need the grass.
I need the air 
That still smells wet.
Like the rain
Has not left yet.

I need the leaves,
I need my breath.
Nature whispering
Inside my head.
I want my feet
Right in the land.
So I have a moment 
To just be present.


You have a tendency
To sneak upon me.
Arms raised on a level that people mistake for a hug.
But I know you mean to hold me down.

Because you want me to erase your mistakes.
Uplift your image for society's sake.
Tell them that you are so great. 
Definitely not the reason for my broken state.
Make them believe that everything is OK.
Fuck, There's no limit to how far you have to run away
To escape the tendrils of my wrath.

You have a tendency
To sneak upon me.
My arms raised on a level that people mistake for a gun.
I'll gladly be mistaken for the bad guy.

donderdag 23 mei 2024

Has anyone seen Hope?

I am grieving hope.

A lost child in a burned out park, 
The gray where flowers once stood.
A memory.
I thought humans were better.

I'm alone.
No not alone,
But lonely in that feeling 
Of care and healing done communally.

There is this western ideal.
It's called individuality.
Some have it translated to
“Only I and what I want matter;
Only I and what I approve of are alive.”

Worthy of life.
Not worthy of life.
Three letters mean a lot.

The rest of us move through life masked.
Hoping they don't recognise us.

zaterdag 18 mei 2024

I rather you be inconvenienced than lose my soul

How do you want them to pray without any hands, or talk without their words?
When their tongue is stuck to the roof of their mouths, and their mind is still at home?
When their stomachs rumble louder than the bombs, what do you want them to do?

How can you say they lack basic humanity, but when put on display,
Ours is the one that is found wanting, every single time?
We have killed and we have slaughtered, and we have watched them die.

When the emptiness echoes louder than bombs, what do you think we should do?
Empty our vowels onto the sidewalks, and hope silence is the key?
I rather scream and bury your opinions of me, if it means life.

Lives lived in the grave

You tell me:

No one is free until we all are free,

While spitting in my face and choking me.

Where is the care you promised me?

You keep telling me that I'm free now. 

All restraints lifted.

All my shackles have come down.

I have to say that I can't see it.

You have your freedom and I'm still bleeding.

You have your future and  I'm still locked down.

Paying the price for your breathing.

Pouring my oxygen into your smile.

I have been sacrificing myself again and again and again and again 

And for a long, good while.

You won't know that you have you joined me until the moment when

Your breath is disappearing into them. 

And you are me

And I am you

And we will never be them again.

We will never be there again. 

Where being together unfethered

Feels like a breath of fresh air.

Death sometimes knocks on my chest.

At least Death likes to greet me with a mask.

I'm not ready to die yet. 

Yes everyone dies in the end.

But I shouldn't have to be ready to die yet.

Why do you say me dying is for the best?

But what do I expect? 

The only disabled people you respect 

Are dead.

You tell me:

No one is free until we all are free,

While you live on the grave you buried for me.

While I live in the ground you dug up for me.

Is that the freedom you promised me?

vrijdag 12 april 2024


I no longer recognise my fingers.

They have fallen silent on my hands.

Their battery has emptied,

Lost connection to my head. 

I no longer recognise my thoughts. 

They're like those earbuds with a chord.

Those you put neatly into your pocket, 

Only to surface in discord.

I recognise my feelings

But too many of them are left unwrung,

Without writing about it

To put breath back into my lungs.

I recognise my heartbreak, 

I just didn't expect to be here again.

The sting hasn't come out yet

Will it happen once more then?

A body beyond repair.

A story book left open-ended.

I'm trying hard to convince myself

That the me that was me hasn't ended.

A body now left sunken

And sleeping beauty will not wake.

You chose to have me broken,

And what's broken will never unbreak.

I no longer recognise my fingers 

And you no longer recognise my face.

But if it makes you feel better,

Just lie and say that it was fate. 

vrijdag 9 februari 2024

Ik heb geen gender, wat nu?

Ze zeggen

De afscheiding in onderbroeken heeft een gender

En de bloed op hun lippen ook.

Een vuistgevecht op een zondagochtend

En het hout op het vuur dat rookt. 

De kleur van een pen heeft een gender

En de prijs kaart van mijn shampoo.

Vrouwen houden van prijzige dingen.

Mannen zijn nu eenmaal goedkoop.

Er zit een gender naast die mot daar.

Daar in die ouwe petticoat.

En ook al in al die blazers.

En vergeet niet de maillot!

Vergeet ook niet de hem en haar pennen,

Roze hamers, de lippenstift in Rood.

Allemaal zijn tuurlijk biologisch 

Geboren genders en helemaal gewoon.