De deuren zijn bezegeld en
de loten zijn bestempeld.
Wat is dit voor een leven,
toegeplakt, bedrempeld.

Ik had al een plastieken kaartje.
Nu komt daar nog
een documentje bij.
Een aardje naar z'n vaartje
maar wie is daarmee blij?

Ik weet wel wie en goed en wat
en waarom we zo voorzichtig zijn.
Als ik dat virus is mijn handen krijg
dan is het kot te klein.

klein verschil
van goede wil
een wereld, pril
maar later
het overwinnen van
een flater

Safety in my bank account,
a hefty sum of headly worries.
All this work, it flurries,
hurries me, in traffic, at home,
a jurassic park with just a comb
to comb my hair and soothe me.

Who'd be that dumb and reject all this?
It's hard to distinguish what we need from what we don't when half of what we read wants us to want to not miss out or we'll be ******
alive, as so it seems.

Maybe I would suffer less,
maybe I would suffer more.
I can't compare the cess
for multiple obvious reasons.
Alas, I'll just await
the changing of the seasons.

Easily defined, discussed
and generally seen as a must
have in a just halve your sleep
time, sheep-swine, expensive house
but cheap wine, mentality
community.

We chase and run and chase some more,
like the humans did food
years and years before.

When we are fed and healthy,
enough is never quite enough,
succes, just very stealthily,
seperates the weaklings from the tough.

Ok, ja, er zijn veel opgesloten mensen.
Maar weet je wat echt triestig is?
Geen reactie krijgen op je versverstuurde,
welgemeende facebookverjaardagswensen.

Ik zit op bad, niet erin,
denk na, het is niet min.
Plus ik ben nu twee maal
elf, da's te delen
of te laten,
al zeg ik het zelf.

We never know what to say,
they never know how to feel.
As nothing seems real,
as we all fail to grasp what may
be tomorrow,
our words stay drenched in sorrow.

The moment is frozen and time stands still.
What no one has chosen will
happen right when no one needs it to,
persistently followed by a shrill
shriek.

I shouldn't speak. I'll listen. You don't have to tell
me anything. Just know I'm here in case you do
need or attempt to
unravel.

When I asked her: 'What do you need or miss?
She replied with something along the lines of this.

I miss friends, the things I see online, the only things
not part of my belongings, which all the others do
seem to have yet I only get to view.

I told her she has something more important.
A whole wholesome world inside
her being, a life with which her deportment
may not be agreeing, a fun to see
fantasy to hide from anyone and
everyone in broad daylight.

She could let it out or keep it in,
none of the options are a sin,
they're equally existing or not
in this amazing world she's got.

So please don't fret on certain uncertainties,
let your life unfold whether or not you'd open curtains these
unknown audiences'd freeze
if they had the chance, the keys
to lock your beauty up inside,
hidden, away from broad daylight.

Dokter, mag ik voller?
Barman, mag ik meer?
Dokter, het mag boller,
barman, doe maar weer
hetzelfde, nog eens vol.

Ik bestelde laatst een persoonlijkheid,
tikte een profiel op de kop.
Wat een onwaarschijnlijkheid,
het was een grote flop.

Met filters, fillers, implantaten,
maak je niet op voor leegjes praten.

Je ben nog jong nu,
van simpelere dingen
leer je genieten.

Ik las laatst een loos artikel
over een ontaard perikel
waarin alle uitspraken
spaak liepen nog voor het afmaken.

Meestal snel ik dan naar de commentaar.
Vindt iemand anders dat ook zo raar?
Er is rust in minstens één gelijkgestemde ziel
die mij bevestigt, ja, die argumenten zijn labiel.

Ik zal dan al de rest negeren
om de goedheidsillusie te blijven eren.

Ik zit op één stoel.
Zo zijn er talloze stoelen.
Het regent in huis.

If everyone took
a look at themselves
we wouldn't need bother
to judge one another.

Nu de dag is aangebroken,
mis ik het gezicht van de maan.
Ik zoek al lang naar rust,
kom alleen bij stilte aan.

*** vind je dat, niet meer zoekende
zijn?
Ik luister liefdevol naar herinneringen
van die deur die nu gesmeerd is.

Piepen, kraken, barsten tot we brokken maken.
Niets is permanent gelaafd.
Het brengt ons weinig
en toch ben ik verslaafd.

Something bothers
so I dig,
something others
see as big
might not be
the same for me.

Power lies
somewhere in between
what's not and is
able to and seen.

The why's are not what they might seem,
are not as tall as you might think.
The reason is always on the brink
of defeating purpose in a race,
of being discovered. Yet when you
deem it less in value, all will fall back into place.

Grab your gripe.
Inspect its type.
Is it small enough to not need
any way around it?
Is it big enough to down your mood?

Bend the thought to see the good
that's hiding in between the lines.

Road works ahead?
A walk just might refresh your head.

Caught a flu?
A break from work
could revitalize you.

Stuck behind a slow chauffeur?
Driving slow is less expensive.

Try your own as research has shown:
bending the small affects almost all.

Up or all away, I have said
before I'm sad and don't know
what to say. Progress is slow
and focus shifts between bad
and just a little better.

It seems unfinished, what I
meant to contribute.
It seems uncertain if it will ever be.
It seems uncertain if I'm still even me.

Hoge tafels vingen wind,
droge vlagen, 'n zingend kind,
durven vragen
wat ik van die dingen vind.

Het raakt me,
als een vuurpijl
op een bosuil.

Elk dag alles achter laten,
is ook vertrouwen dat er
morgen nog wat is.

Achter laten is dan oké.
De pijn komt pas van weten
wat er nooit opnieuw zal zijn.

De stemming is te snijden,
niets kan mij verblijden
als ik kijk naar mij zuurverdiend
diploma en een toekomst
in een helderziende somberheid.

Mag ik even de micro lenen?
Ik ben boos op mezelf en op diegenen
die me niet konden stoppen.
Ik ben een trommel vol met moppen
maar dan leeg en zonder zin.
Heb jij nog honger?
Want ik ben op dieet.

Pseudoscience and political discussions
are like ***** and stereotypes of Schrödinger's Russians.
They may or may not be related
and they may or may not be true
as long as there's no proof,
there's nothing you can do.

I have grown distasted regarding
left and right and alt and fright.
Why does everyone need recognition
and a border on their gender definition?

We are people, we are human, men and women
or whatever name you want to have and give.
I was always taught to live
and let.

Things new and weird are fine by me,
just let people be. It doesn't matter what we say.
As long as it doesn't affect us in
a negatively connotated way.

On the corner of main street,
where sweethearts meet
and meatheads greet
through fistfight-till-we-bleed,
no one knows there's more than one
kind of life to lead.

Some'd rather risk a beating
for stealing purses, snatching cars
or selling rotten caviar
with paint
than work for honest pay.

All they'll ever think,
when one offers decent plans,
is there has to be another way.

Munt is de smaak van proper,
Schijn is de taal, het land en de loper.
Als zand, ruw, niet schuw van kruipen.
Vermijding jaagt me het lijf op de stuipen.

God, was ik maar en dan zou ik...
Juist niks.
Maar echt, ik zou...
Neen, niks.

In nederigheid leer ik geluk weer kennen,
In zinvol verval kan ik terug wennen
aan verandering, controle lossen,
zonder te vergeten, dagelijks te flossen.

Een goed schema verandert elke dag.

I'd rather not this
nor would I the other.
Both hitting a miss,
so why even bother?

It's a training match, we rehearse,
reimburse our future selves
when we leave toilet paper
we don't need
on the shelves.

Tomorrow we will do it all again.
Brush your teeth,
wash your mouth.
Until that's the only thing you feel.

You're not thinking, you've stopped blinking.
I see you seethe when you are stopped
from brushing teeth.

I lack the basics, lack the practice,
lack that and I lack this. I even googled
how to rhyme and came out on crab cactus.

I feel void, for nill, as if I might be also lacking.

We don't smell, we reek.
Not knowing why, we seek
the growing highs, the peak.

Where does it stop, evolution?
Are we there yet? Is the wise
wise man the last solution?
Or are others on the rise.

Fist became stone, then food
and words and abstract good,
caged birds and #mondaymood.

Sometimes we wear perfume.
Other days our fists raise.
And when our fingers find the blood
they sought
we get caught up in the smells of old.

We may have glittered once
but we were never gold.

Hey, how've you been, oh my,
I have to say, sorry I
couldn't make it,
I had problems with
myself last time.

Hope you're doing well,
as far as I can tell,
you're looking great,
I'll add, I, myself 've
done recovered from the perfect date.

My head tells me, don't dwell,
I'm just really sorry about the past,
my heart is sure as well,
I do not regret moving too fast.

I've always said I'd do what's right,
form a cross, ask for blessings
and kiss goodnight.
I never knew to be in love to be much of
a fight.
I never thought the hard-wrought fictions
carried wisdom more than foolery.

As it turns out I've always been
the fool I thought I hadn't seen.
I see now the mistakes of a path in past
and say, once again, this one was my last.

Writers, professors, journalists and hairdressers,
students, athletes, baristas and deadbeats,
no one knows it all.

The theory of mind has not been kind
to anyone who dares to search
for an appropriate belief they can get behind.

Horace was right to say, I say this
and if I may, I will retreat,
we can discuss, but do not necessarily have to meet
each other halfway.

Down the line I'd like to be
firm in my two cents. (even if cents are soon to be abolished)
I'll keep them in my pocket, polished, and
if someone wants to throw me more,
I'll happily inspect their core.

If they don't bend, my pocket grows,
if they do, they'll fly into the fountain's lows,
where no one has to ever see
those coins again, especially not me.

Snippets often overrule,
like droplets do the pool
and you sometimes my past.
I know we wouldn't last.

I took the L, the letter never boring,
equally skilled at hate as it is at adoring.
Don't forget our remembrance of hurry
is also often hazey and blurry.

As lightbulbs they guide,
shine bright with pride
but they also throw shade
on the promises made.

Don't beat yourself up for the details you missed.
Give yourself praise for the present you kiss.

Bedek toch je gezicht!

What is your excuse, the main
stated reason causing you to lose?
You know what you have to gain,
what you want to do
with your time.

Why don't you do it?

With only today at hand,
only one ship manned,
only 24 hours to grind
and no take-backs when you fall behind,
you know it's up to you
to pull yourself through.

Why don't you do it?

Are you sad? Are you under
pressure? Are you afraid of being bad,
scared of thunder and aggression?
Do you despise succesful others,
have no respect for proud mothers?
What's holding you back from where you need to be?

Why don't you do it?

It's too complicated, rough,
I was never hard or tough.
It's not amusing in the present,
I resent working like a peasant.

That is softcore cocky, didn't you
ever see the movie rocky,
with the guy running up the stairs?
Even if there's no one else in your life who cares,
there's you
and a lot of things to do.

Why don't you do it?

Is it habits? Make some new.
Is it sleep? Plan your cycle.
Is it the past? Let it be a drive.
Is it the future, are you insecure?
Then make it certain, strive
to make your own **** cure.

And whenever you are feeling you might crack,
locate the reason, what's holding you back.
If there's nothing valid in what you find,
it's time to stop acting like you're blind.

Do it.

My father's boss is yelling
through his headphones.
He is telling this and that
while my father's head moans.

His pulse has visibly risen.
Still, working from home
is better than from prison,
where there is no place to roam.

Oh, the office, such a dull
and misconceiving place.
A bunch of rooms to mull
in, furthest from a warm embrace.

Oh, humanity misunderstood
how to make a man feel good.

Welke vragen zal ik stellen?
Ben ik dankbaar genoeg?
Durf je te vergeten?

Ik weet alvast nog de
dingen die me speten.
Ik had dat of dat kunnen zeggen,
de nadruk ergens anders
kunnen leggen.

Maakt het uit
over enkele weken?

We're all sharing struggles,
scraping cheeto's, buggles, lay's
in ways we hadn't, could not have
foreseen.

It trickles, slowly, on my self-esteem, down,
tricking me, and what I seem, a clown
and diminishes the part
where it all finishes
to nothing but the start
of yet another change of heart
that no one ordered and disordered
the comfortable state
we hate but love
and cannot stop dreaming of
when it is gone.

*** kon dit toch gebeuren,
waarom ben ik weer zo dom?

Ventileren kan opbeuren
maar spreken voelt zo stom.

Mijn badeend is de enige
die me echt begrijpt.

De drang, het moeten, wijs
overkomen, je reinste ijdelheid.

Laat varen, al die willens,
laat lopen, al die prikkels
die aandacht vragen, keveren,
en nooit echt wat opleveren.

De netto levenskwaliteit.
Is dat dan al dat telt?

Mijn keel, schor en schoor mijn voeten.
Waarom toch altijd dat goed moeten?

I have dabbled in creative writing,
I have tried to play guitar,
I have smelled the exciting
smell of greatness
on the toes of those whose work
I can enjoy.

I am part of the crowd,
raising glasses,
I am part of the masses
and I sing along so loud.

As long as I don't ever get cocky,
in my humblest regards,
I'm allowed to keep quoting rocky
or choose whether I show my cards.

Ik wou alleen maar helpen,
het bloeden stelpen.
Ik wou alleen maar,
maar raakte snaren
die beter ongespeeld bleven.

Ik wist het niet.
Ik hoop maar dat ik beter weet.
Ik zal het anders doen.

Schuld cirkelt, als gieren,
als een draaikolk van wilde
dieren die snauwen, klauwen, bijten,
die het nooit even fel zal spijten.
Het is wel genoeg zo.

Ever so often do I slightly dwell.
No matter my tries, attempting to quell,
no matter the present, the past
you can tell, is written, engraved,
I misbehaved.

I mistook my fright for inconvenience,
aware of the scary's worthiness of lenience.
I spoke in excess of affection and love.
Yet was too weak to express when push came to shove.

I regret causing harm, though I never met her,
believe she has grown, is stronger somehow.
She knows like I do, she deserved someone better,
or at least someone longer, who'll never regret her.

I hope you forgive me, consider me a friend
and in that act allow my dwelling to end.

Too easy, always breezing through, eazing,
comfort, soft, cheeky squeezing,
me, this week, weaky, meek pleasing.

I was never sick
      Not like them.
It never sticked
      Like it did to them.

It grew, the fluke, blew up,
no backs, to the past that lacks
this new disease
        may be my last
                 before I drop the stacks.

Banner, seen at four,
didn't know
what, twenty, still no gut, no go,
from the get-go, no strut
again.

Manners maketh man!

No more greeting at the entrance door,
no meeting on the seventh floor, en trance,
no chance to meet your father, son.

What's wrong, how long
have I been gone, for,
twenty four, will I see?
Dealt a bad deal, who can I be
during the war
behind the banner's door?

Drop the act son,
you shouldn't ask, wouldn't know
how to react, son.
Better crawl, easy kid, better crawl,
like I did, better crawl, never done, kid,
we'll see if you deserve it.

Fragile sounds in darkness,
the night is veiled by warmth and
dampness. The outside feels as
two drenchy, thirst-quenchy thighs
touching
eachother, falling in love,
rubbing
eachother, for an eternity within twenty minutes.

As fragile voices sang about loneliness,
I felt a little less
alone. Yet,
scared of the unknown,
I dreaded going on. (But) everything was so
welcoming, so inviting, interesting, enlightning, and frightening.

I dreaded going on


(but) I did.

Al beperkt tot de kleinste
verantwoordelijkheid,
die ik draag, met erkenning
voor de nazichtsvloek,
toch een piekerkwelling
en de gemoedsrust zoek.

Die dekselse geruststelling,
zo moeilijk om te laten.
*** kan ik me verweren
tegen veiligheidsleren?

What it takes to make us two
is unknown. I have no clue
of what to do.

What it takes to return for more
is hidden, has no core.
It changes and divides.
It looks up and it hides,
it has a knack for messing up insides.

Sometimes all’s too much to handle,
all’s too heavy to carry
and you worry about finding someone you can marry.
Light a candle, light your heart,
there’s more in there, even if unclear its touch.

There’s something out there that will never feel too much.

Some things need change,
others compromise, not war.
Some things need extinction,
others are just who you are.

It's nice to have a clear distinction.

Mijn hoofd stelt voor morgen
uit te stellen, het blijft proberen
de toekomst te bellen en te weren
van alle vreselijke zorgen.

In die beproeving, per abuus,
komen al die laters saam in nu's
die in het heden weten
*** me de rust te doen vergeten.

Ik heb nog zo gevraagd,
hoofd, alstublieft te stoppen,
niet elk open doel binnen koppen.

Dan maar heb ik zelf gewaagd,
geaccepteerd, die risico's bestaan,
simpelweg gekozen, morgen heen te gaan.

I am what I despise, what I judge
with my own eyes, every day.
I am the king in yellow, my own fellow
sinner, winner of no single chicken dinner.

I’ve ricked and rolled,
stumbled and strolled,
coasted and roasted

myself for not knowing what everyone seems to know.
What we need is what we show,
what we say is what we want to be told.

Behold, the complement, the compliment, the flattery,

the self-completing battery and assault
on and off my motivation. Am I self-obsessed, in fault
or in a bad relation with my life-sustaining battery?

Er is geen er, ik ben er niet
en zal er nooit geraken.
*** meer ik denk die noot te kraken,
*** meer ik pijn vergiet.

In grandiositeit worden anderen
een middel naar een doel.
Dan wil ik ze veranderen,
draait alles om *** ik me voel.

Ik spuw dan details om te verbergen
dat ik het plaatje niet kan zien
Dat kan jou dan tergen
tot ik de bons verdien.

Erken, ik, dat je niet belangrijk bent.
Leven verloopt beter als je je plaats maar kent.

With swerves and glides
and bolts and slides, they
danced on hard matrasses.

A hit, a punch, a kick,
a bunch of quick
dashes in rapid succession.

The fall from grace,
the blurry face and dartling eyes
the get-up and realize
everyone has a different pace.

We'll get there
when we get there.
And when we do
I'll light some candles
just for you.

As I sift through hoards of mails,
unlike letters, starred, it fails
to entice me. As the windy gusts
provide the necessary background noise,
it suddenly derails.
I've seen too much, it all disgusts
me how we
drop our scales into the pan
and scramble,
nitpick or devour anything we can.

I am thankful for the eggs I eat, the bread and jam,
I am happy to see 'you've got mail' even if it turns out
to be spam.