zaterdag 22 augustus 2026

Wrong

Wrong

I will always think I'm not enough.
My body holds all my compressed failures.
Like seeing myself through a fun house mirror.
There's always some distortion there.

It's easier to count mistakes that way.
The spot on the surface that dared to linger,
now finds its place as a tick on the finger.
Unhindered by the sudden change.

There's always that one wrong line,
whether it be on my face or my painting,
that has me scrutinise me existing 
in this world in the first place.

I'm not an imposter, I am a full on mistake.
Fraud, as a word, will simply never cut it.
It requires my skin to at least fit
snugly around the things I am hiding.

No, I am obstinate in my disillusionment
that my self hatred deserves better.
But I can't even think of a word to get her.
I reckon this poem won't be worthy.

maandag 17 augustus 2026

Endings

I miss you.
I thought I was over that by now.
It's been over a decade ago
that we fell out.

And in my head it felt like a pause.
And in my head I'm lost.
And in my head it wasn't enough.
And I'm breaking now that you're lost.

Now that you died,
the world turned on its axis,
expectations subverted,
bringing permanence to how I miss.

Now that you died,
Everything is no longer as it seems.
I have to actually say goodbye to you
and a part of me wants to scream:

Fuck you for dying
for I never got to say:
How are you doing now?
How were all your days?

Fuck you for dying.
It wasn't supposed to be this way.
You were supposed to live forever.
We were supposed to meet up one day.

But I'm not actually angry.
The anger is just a lie,
A looming sadness in disguise.
Not understanding why you died.

I have to realign 
all I thought I knew.
There's an ending 
to what this thing I knew.

I just miss you.
I thought I was over that by now.
I never healed the old wounds 
and they're bleeding out.

Into depression 
and into my mouth.
The world is trying to move on 
and it's too loud.

I wish I could just drown it out.
I wish I could just drown.
But I got to be the one
leaving you behind now.

And it sucks. 

maandag 10 augustus 2026

Too much to ask for

I guess you wish I was stronger.
I guess you wish I wasn't weak.
Untraumatised and unbroken,
A little bit more like you.

I guess you wish I was unburdened, 
not the bundle of nerves that I am.
Less likely to lean on anyone,
less mental and more health.

You make me feel so small,
the way you whisper under your breath.
A “ridiculous” and an eye roll
and I suddenly forget 

The ways in which I am strong,
instead I overexplain and apologise. 
My hurt heart bleeding into the darkness,
the tears not escaping my eyes.

And maybe I wish I was stronger,
Less weak, less traumatised.
Maybe less of a burden,
and a bit more like you.

But maybe I want you to see me,
and tell me that the shards are still ok.
Let me be somewhat neurotic.
Let me be wholly myself.

Is that too much to ask for?
To just not feel like I'm too much?
I wish I was smaller.
I wish I was enough. 

Things that people say

Things that people say when you're disabled: 

If I had your life, I would have killed myself.
Maybe your mother should have aborted 
you out of her womb.
I want to know what you did to deserve
this so I can avoid becoming like you.
Why do you think you should be 
allowed to breathe?
It's good that Covid culls the old and weak.
Because when a disabled person dies 
that is a blessing, 
an end to what is surely suffering.
Less of you makes the world better,
stronger, richer and a whole lot faster, 
less broken, less burden, 
less inconvenient,
because you people have nothing to add.
Why aren't you dead yet?

Back in the day they used to throw you in pits,
be glad that the world now is different,
what do you mean people still want you dead,
lying isn't nice and you got everything twisted. 

maandag 3 augustus 2026

Gezichten als de mijne

Tw homohaat, geweld, xenofobie

Het was gezichten als de mijne,
die toen ik opgroei tegen mij zeiden
dat ik niet mijzelf mag zijn,
dat als ik een vrouw kreeg 
dat ik klappen moet krijgen,
dat mijn kussen met mijn partner
spuug in het gezicht verdiende,
dat mijn hart behoorde tot een man,
dat ik mijzelf moest opvouwen
en klein houden
zodat ik in de samenleving zou passen,
dat het dat was of de dood,
dat ze de queer zijn uit mij zouden neuken,
dat ik enkel maar een vrouw kan zijn,
dat vrij zijn betekent net zijn als iedereen, 
en dat ik mijzelf van kant moest maken
als ik niet zou stoppen met anders zijn,
dat ze mij zouden vermoorden,
of hopelijk iemand hen voor zou zijn.

Het zijn gezichten als de mijne
die ik nu groot ben tegen mij zeggen
“ als je niet geloof wat ik geloof
hoop ik dat iemand je zal verkrachten,
in elkaar slaan en vermoorden,
je bent een kankerhoer en een fucking slet,
Wees jezelf als jezelf 
maar exact is zoals ik ben.”

“Fuck je vlag,
ik wil je laten verdwijnen,
als een regenbookbankje laten verdwijnen,
mijn pik in je laten verdwijnen 
tot je hetero ben laten verdwijnen,
en laat mij je foto's belachelijk maken,
je gezicht belachelijk maken,
je bestaan belachelijk maken,
tot je wil verdwijnen,
in schaamte wil verdwijnen,
tot je eindelijk gaat verdwijnen,
laat mij je weglegisleren, 
in wetten laten verdwijnen,
in haatvolle commentsecties laat ik je verdwijnen,
in de ontkenning van mijn antiqueerness
laat ik je verdwijnen en
waarom bescherm je de anderen?!”

“Waarom zie je niet wat de anderen zijn?
De anderen zijn gewelddadig”
zeggen ze terwijl vuisten 
en spuug en flessen rondvliegen
en keer op keer de voorpagina raken
en “de anderen zijn terrorisme” 
zeggen ze in het midden van hun tereur,
jagend op angst,
en anders zijn 
en verschillen
en mensen die niet een copy paste zijn
van de mensen die ze willen.
“Het zijn altijd de anderen,
zij haten de verschillen! 
De antiqueer, de echte haters
die een wereld willen 
waar iedereen is als hen”
zeggen zij al hatend op wie ik ben,
hatend op dat ik weet wie ik ben,
die mij het meest haten,
die het vrijheid noemen 
om mij te kunnen haten 
tot ik niet langer vrij ben.
“Het zijn altijd de anderen!
Ik hoop dat de anderen
je laten zien waarom
ik dit zeg.
Ik hoop dat ze geweld gebruiken,
zodat ik kan lachen,
over je lichaam kan lachen 
over je pijn kan lachen
net zolang tot je ben wie ik ben 
en luister naar wat ik zeg.”

woensdag 29 juli 2026

The name is genocide

Can we really claim
our heads aren't in the sand
if our voices remain silent,
if our fingers are on the trigger
to keep the others silenced?

Can we truly say 
we didn't know 
when the bombs are this loud?
When life is lived screaming?
When the aching and bleeding
create rivers around your shoes?

Our hearts are wide open,
thrown against the walls you build around us.
You call it protection for our so called sensitivity
but the only one you are protecting is yourself.

Can we keep up
our claim to ignorance 
and innocence
when everything is happening 
where we all can see?
What is it that you want us to believe?

That you have a soul?
That the blinding light of heaven
is going to lift you up?
That piling bodies into the sky 
is your ladder to God?

Our hearts are broken open,
and I keep trying to fill mine up every day,
to keep the lives that were cruelly cut short 
in a place that doesn't feel forgotten.

And it still doesn't feel like enough. 

I will bite down on this.  
I don't care that you hate it.
You want peace of mind.
I don't want people to die.

I will clamp down on this
and I hope that you hate me.
I will speak to the truth,
say the name that you hate.

Spell the letters 
between my teeth.
Ignore your insistence
on complacency. 

Spit it out
at your feet
and hope 
that you choke on it.

I will put it
it my poems,
make you figure out 
if it rhymes.

You can take 
my tongue 
but I will still 
call it a genocide.

You can 
stitch my mouth
but I will speak
every time.

You can not ignore violence
to hope peace into existence. 

dinsdag 21 juli 2026

Hide and seek

Hide and seek

Tw: heavy themes of childhood abuse 

Count to ten. 
Come and hide me.
In the dark.
I cry like how I bleed.

Hush my mouth
so they can't find me.
Break the night.
Interrupt my sleep.

On and on 
you creep.
Too much time spend 
On my knees
(Not praying).

Tell me in the morning 
that it was just a bad dream.
Tell me that I made up
then tell me no one will believe me.

Did it even happen 
if no one can hear me scream?
A lone tree in the forest 
unable to grow roots.

Pt2

I bleed my words into this poem
so someone might know this happened. 
A record of who you were 
that spells your name in another language.
Will I be heard if I make it flowery?
Will I be believed if I don't mention the name?

Pt 3

Sometimes I dream 
about us playing hide and seek.
But in those dreams 
I found you.

I want you to know that
those dreams are not about 
bruised ego's
and power imbalances
and scratch marks
and split lips,
saliva spilled into
pink traces down your neck.
None of that matters.

No,
in MY dreams 
I pass you by
even though
I know where you are.
In my dreams 
you hide
until you die
and I forget
you ever existed.
A perfect ending
to an imperfect existence.


dinsdag 14 juli 2026

Bi-erasure

Bi-erasure

All you do
is take pieces of me
until I no longer exist.

If I were a man you'd call me gay,
If I were a woman you'd call me straight. 
Either way it's men YOU center
in your narratives about how I love.

I swallowed myself down enough 
for your convenience.
Shrunk myself so much
to fit into your story of me.
All you wanted was for me to become
anyone else
and I nearly did.

I am glad I have nothing left to give you.
Never thought the day would come 
that I could express just that. 
But I know now that
my existence needs no softening.
I have better dreams to chase
than your approval.

zondag 5 juli 2026

Death never bargains

Although we said goodbye
what felt like a million lifetimes ago,
I think there is a part of me
that just didn't expect 
that this was the end.
I wasn't expecting an invitation
back into your life 
but I felt strongly that
one day I'll see you again.

A passing smile,
a small talk moment,
the way two people who knew each other
connect.

We shared a story 
that spanned many books,
and spread out over the decades.
It felt like there was always more to tell.
And maybe that time was
long and winding
but it was never boring.
Time flew by like a spell.

There was love, even when 
our hearts moved in different directions. 
There was care, even when there was not.
That fire we carried was never lost.

There's a part of me that still lives 
where we left off,
despite knowing we would never 
pick up from there again.
I tried to image I had the power
to still time, but in the end 
it remained waiting
right alongside with me,
its companionship constant.

And now, suddenly,
there is no more story.
and nothing more to tell.
This comma turned to a full stop,
opportunities lost,
two becomes one.
There was an us and then there's not.

Death the great unequaliser. 

I would have gladly sacrificed
all my hope to give you more life,
even if it would have never touched mine, 
but Death never bargains.

zondag 28 juni 2026

Ventilator

Zomerhitte.
In de bezwengende momenten.
bezoekt zij al mijn gedachten.
Haar rondingen,
haar lange benen,
de innerwerking van haar brein.

Ik haal alles wat zij is
uit de doos van mijn herinnering. 
Gepassioneerd
maak ik contact met 
haar, en ik voel geen graan van spijt.

De verkoelende lucht 
danst haar vingers over mijn huid
met de kennis van een oude vlam.
De strelingen vinden de kern
van wat ik verlang
tussen mijn dijen.

Ik wou 
dat ik meer kon dichten
maar de zon vraagt al mijn aandacht 
als een jaloerse ex-geliefde.

woensdag 24 juni 2026

Sinful love

My eyes will always find her,
even in the most crowded room.
She's like an electric fire,
sending sparks that make me bloom.

Just one look
is enough to make me catch my breath. 
I'm not ashamed to admit 
that I'm a puddle in her hands.

Her lips like cherry
dragging marks all over my skin.
I can taste the divine on her,
I can touch the sacred within.

Her lips like cherry
dragging taste all over my tongue. 
It's right here in this moment
that I know where I belong 

So if love is a sin,
then let the whole world be condemned. 
We can use a little hellfire, 
we can use ways to connect.

If love is a sin,
then let this be the end.
I will bury myself in her heat,
and leave my life in her hands. 

woensdag 17 juni 2026

Community

Community 

Their embraces that
smell of alcohol and smoke.
Her smile that
let's me know that I'm home.
It's all I need 
to know:

Sometimes I'm lonely, 
but I am not alone.

I am not alone.
~*~*~*~*~*~
(They are glitter,
euphoria, 
and late night whispers.
They make me shine.)


dinsdag 16 juni 2026

Stranger

You're too disconnected to empathise.
To buried in ai generated lies.
Academies and maximising. 
Misogyny in a different font.

You're bespittled lips and faux anger.
Somehow thinking that makes you stronger.
Paying out of pocket 
for some piece of advice. 

You don't care that the world is burning, 
as long as you are still earning,
your weight in recognition. 
Real money is too expensive. 

They scream at the skies
And say they're in danger. 
You shrug your shoulders 
And say they're just strangers.
Hmm-mmm hmmm-mmmm 
You let them be strangers.

The world is in pain,
the world is danger. 
You tell me you don't 
recognise yourself in strangers.
Hmmmmm yeah
I'll let you be a stranger. 

vrijdag 12 juni 2026

Night owl

Night owl 

When the sunset 
hits the trees
my energy rises,
as does my breath,
almost in tandem.

My ears unpop 
after 12o clock,
much like a reverse pumpkin 
out of a fairytale.

The silence is decompressing.
My body relaxes 
and I feel hale.

I crave those moments I have to myself.
That cold night air is intoxicating.
As is the neighbourhood sleeping.
I am alone.

Let sleep take its time to catch me.
I need an hour of reprieve.
The only sound, the sound of you
and I breathing rhythmically.

I can stay, forever, 
just like this
and never get bored.
And never feel unloved. Ever.


dinsdag 9 juni 2026

Kip/Atilla

Kip/Atilla

Jaren geleden, 
voor de muskus 
zijn afscheiding over twitter liet gaan,
kwam een tweetje van mij 
in een Engels artikel,
en had het ipv hen/hun 
chicken/hun staan.

Misschien is dat
geen gedicht waard 
maar mijn brein leidt een ander leven. 
Want wat is meer non binair 
dan mij opeens de titel 
van een willekeurig object
of een dier te geven?

vrijdag 5 juni 2026

We're here!

We're here! We're queer! Get used to it.

I didn't know a wheelchair 
means no sexuality,
or gender,
or pride.

I thought it was me
that gets to decide,
not society
or my ride.

Hybrid piece with artwork

maandag 1 juni 2026

Closet

Oh how they miss the good ole days!
The ways things used to be.
Life treated us so much better
and everyone was happy,
or so they claim.

Closets too used to be made 
of stronger material.
Oh the craftsmanship on those 
were quite exquisite!
Bring back 
that solid piece of furniture 
that held everything in,
including your next door neighbour 
and also possibly his wife.

Solid panels,
thick slab of wood,
hinges that hardly open,
double lock,
doors that are harder to move
than blocks of cement.

Hide your secrets in there,
hide your life,
hide yourself,
hide your future.
Forget to love.
Forget to breathe.
Forget to exist.
Forget to just be
because once you're in 
you can't come out.

“Bring back those good ole times!”
and this is what they mean.
The fervour of their mating call
reaches all the dark corners 
where those ‘good ole day’ people 
had their wintersleep.

vrijdag 22 mei 2026

Emily Dickinson

Emily Dickinson 

Sometimes I dream 
That I'm the next Emily Dickinson.
What an easy dream to have
when every day feels like dying.
I take my pen up 
and with delicate care,
one pinky in the air like 
I'm drinking fancy tea,
start writing
the most beautiful thing 
I have ever seen.

The sungod will make his track 
across the sky.
My body will be still 
because my mind is not.
And if I forget to drink, 
that's fine.
If I forget to eat,
my words will nourish.
I am racing against daylight,
keen to win.

My ears hear
how my pen scratches the paper
and my skin feels the warmth of 
lines of light moving across my body.
I feel too, the indents my body are making 
on the chair I've grown into.
Oh how real it feels!

When I die,
people will suddenly find
the boxes of poetry I created.
A treasure trove 
ready for travelling the world.
People will be sad that
they didn't know me
but I won't be forgotten.
Another type of living death 
than the one I'm currently living.
Knowing I will be found
keeps me company in this tomb.

Mountain

Mountain 

I'm on a mountain. Faraway from everything. A remote and singular destination in the back of people's mind. Not in the world, but around. Not of it, but related to.
From a perch I see everything and nothing all at once. The view far reaching and yet too distant to see anything. There's not a single way in which I can breach the gap. I've stayed up here too long anyway and I've frozen to death.
The night offers solitude over my cold body. The moonlight still doesn't fail to wake me yet warmth it will not offer. That's ok. I die faster during the day. Isn't that surprising?
____________