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“Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause every time I open up,
your problems are a little larger.
And every time you complain,
I suffer a little.

I am not your therapist,
whose advice you don’t take.
I’m your friend.

Am I allowed to be angry?
Tell me, and be honest,
am I allowed to feel?
‘Cause when I let my anger
out in retaliation.
You are a little angrier.

When will I be allowed to be human?
When won’t I be a punchbag anymore?”

A.V.
A Vryghter May 23
“I smile a little,
every time nature takes back.
A factory once booming,
weeds growing through the cracks,
vines enwrapping walls,
shards of glass in tall grass.

I cry a little,
every time nature gives too much.
concrete slabs for carbon-emissions,
tall brick towers for heating,
glass cages for the parasite,
aluminum and plastic in short grass.

I stare a little,
every time nature retaliates.
Waves crashing against metal,
seas forming in concrete bathtubs,
wind flattening itchy points,
sun melting neat grass.”

A.V.
A Vryghter May 20
“It feels wrong
trying to love already.
I should grief longer.
Keep the memories playing,
instead of fantasies.

I love you more,
you know that, right?
I whisper to the sky.
You always have a place here,
around the table, day and night.

It feels so wrong.
it feels so good,
that my eyes will meet another.
It gives me peace that your back,
next to your significant other.

Always in my heart, forever.
A piece I won’t remove.
Always in my DNA,
That wasn’t something I could choose.”

A.V.
I love you, grandma, grandpa, grandpa and grandma.
A Vryghter May 17
“I’m getting sick of it, Darling.
Poems meant for you, I mean.
I want to grow, yet my heart doesn’t.
And that’s your fault.

I want to write the forest dry,
but my head doesn’t wander.
I try to forget, will I regret it?
But the trees keep sprouting.

I’m feeling ill, my love.
‘Cause you forget my name.
I’m stuck, the trees closing me in.
I don’t have an axe. I stay.

I want to throw up words.
Get sick of paper in my mouth.
But my heart seems glued,
Repeating the same.”

A.V.
when you love someone who doesn’t love you.
A Vryghter May 16
“The house is full of cards and flowers.
On the dinner table, the tv-stand, the kitchen counter.
The cards are taped to the door.
You don’t get to see them,
but they all mention you.

The house is full of flowers.
Big ones and small ones.
They bloom now that spring’s here.
All different colours and shapes.
You can’t smell them anymore.

Your picture is on the shelf.
A radiant smile against the grey.
You’re with them again.

The house is full of flowers and cards.
All addressed to me,
while they’re meant for you.”

A.V.
When grief addresses you with “Condolences” and brings flowers.
A Vryghter May 14
“When I die,
return me to nature.
I don’t want to be in a wooden hug,
that’s as dead as I’ll be.
I want my hands gripping grass,
and my lungs filling with dirt.

Don’t give me flowers,
if they’re not planted
on my last blanket.

One day I’ll die,
until then, I’ll enjoy
every second of being.”

A.V.
When I’m wrapped in vines, my death will come.
A Vryghter May 14
“My pen hits paper and I
drop the things that had
fallen onto my shoulders.
I grab a piece and admire,
I lay it under microscope
in the hope
it will quiet my mind.
I push the pen harder,
etching words into paper.
I write about the weight.
It keeps me sane.

If only it lightened the load.”

A.V.
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