Het is genoeg te weten

Zoals ik wakker naast je word is
het net alsof het
zo al jaren gaat:
Mijn tandenborstel in je
badkamer laten staan,
de deken over
mijn schouder slaan,
twee koppen koffie maken en
ik schrijf mijn initialen op  je
deur, je ramen, een fotolijstje.
Ik hoor niet eens dat ik het
van je vraag.

Terwijl je mijn naam verkreukt
als de wit geworden handdoek in je hoek,
een boek dichtslaat.
Je kust me zoals een timmerman spijkers
hamert en ik ga.
Het is genoeg te weten dat
je niet bestaat.

Damsels in distress

Disney told me he could be

the other half of me.

I spent hours

waiting in a tower

for him and

for his superpowers,

to cling to my braid,

to climb,

the walls of brick

surrounding me.

I watched the world pass

me by. I

combed my locks

a hundred times.

Arranging perfumes in a line

I thought I was fine but

Eleanor

grew stronger, -

Rigby fed on cotton candy dreams.

I need you

not to feed me.

Sitting on a shelf

I read the books as well.

Sang myself asleep through

other minds.

Tell me something new

Sing about

the other side:

people dance the dark away

on dimly lit dancefloors.

The more I fed myself

The less I felt the need

for you to complete me.

Cut my hair

took a sword and the stairs

soaked up the air.

Teacups

The dust in this fridge and

the lack of eggs on shelves,

of sunlight through window blinds,

of whiteness on bathroom tiles.

Wisps of hairs on stairs.

I do not recognize

the color nor the shape of these curls. 

The blankets on your bed.

crumpled and creased

permeated by the

sweaty smell of your sleep.

Socks in corners.

Socks on your floor.

‘Please buy a wardrobe.

Like normal people.’

We decided not to fight about trivial matters

And so we wake up silently.

Where are you?

I ask and

you stare at my forehead

'I came unprepared' you say

Please, tell me

you care.

I convince myself you cannot express this,

There must lie a truth

behind the signs. 

There must be more under this

meaningless surface.

The weak grip 

of our hearts and hands.

I try to love your voice and

the sound of your words.

The way you move.

I want to bend your back,

rearrange your eyebrows and

your furniture.

I want to decide on what you eat.

You will not let me

drive your car when it’s dark.

I sing hoarsely to traffic lights

on the way home.

My eyes adjust to kitchen lamps

the cups of the tea we drank.

Cannot fill up this dishwasher.

I rinse the signs of our togetherness

with water.

Aanraken

Die nacht bleven we

drinken. Ik dacht dat het de wijn was

die deed duizelen:

het was wat we geworden waren

en dat we je vriendin vergaten,

kleiner maakten.

We groeiden groter,

onze schoenen en

onze kleren uit.

Je haren hadden vlamgevat:

het vuur zag zwart van het groen

en van het

grijsdraaien van platen.

Duisternis stond besluiteloos

achter het glas

de dag lag zwijgend

op het dak.

Het was gemakkelijk:

het schuiven van gordijnen,

een deur vergrendelen.

Je was onmogelijk

niet aan te raken. 

Our dresses

We wore tight skirts and dresses

to philosophy class.

And we participated.

O God,

how much we participated.

‘Do not stop thinking

keep wide awake.’

We reminded ourselves

as the dawn broke the day.

How beautifully thin we got.

Now our dresses could be tighter

and shorter.  

Among the rambling sounds of cityscapes,

the sights of fleeting images,

our heads exploded.

Parts of our brains left stains

on the frames

of the glass of

his glasses.

She had left him.

All he had left of her was

us.

All that was left of us

was

that body underneath

the dress.

He counted our freckles, our

bones until

it bored him.

Until

his gaze rested upon

another statue.  

The days were getting shorter when

we started sleeping.

We slept and slept and slept.

O God, how much we slept.

We kept the curtains closed.

We found ourselves waking up.

And the sunbeams drawing

patterns on our sheets.

Less sharp now, but we were

clearly seeing

the faces in the streets.

And it took a long time, but

a while until  

we found our smile back in

tv-commercials

our heads back

in our beds.

Major Tom

Do you remember you had promised me

to stay clean

on my eighteenth birthday party?

I swear to God.

You heard what I said,

you recited the books you read.

I remember catching you in corners,

sniffing powder of off my parents’ cd collection.

Your shoulders and your back were bend.

I like to think 
I thought you looked small.

But I did not think that

at all.

As we filled our veins with

liquid luck.

Pretending not to care about our skins,

the stains.

All I could think of

was telling my friends:

you looked like Kurt Cobain. 

Apple

Apple (2)

And then suddenly,

the awareness of your nakedness arrives.

Construction workers long for the sound of rustling paper,

students feel the need to rub brick against their skins.

Did we choose to take

the yellow submarine

we are in?

You must have an opinion.

They can

read everything.

They can

see everything.

Is it you 

or is it 

the repetition 

of your judgements

that is boring me?

When you think you have come to terms with

the clothes you are wearing,

translucent walls

you are staring at.

Stretch your head out of

cotton candy clouds;

the things you think you saw

now come in true proportions.

Minds are mindlessly alike,

crowds consist of beating hearts and

all male Gods

just

mortals.