Waar is mijn waarde wanneer
ik niet dit of dat?
Wat is mijn plek op deze aarde
als ik niet *** of wat?

Ik doe maar iets, wij allemaal,
denk ik. Schenk ik daarmee
genoeg? Is mijn bijdrage
voldoende voor wat zij vragen?

Wat wil ik zelf, een lichaam,
een tempel, een geestelijk gewelf
of een wijsheid, prestatie,
product en ongelooflijk gedelf?

Ik ben wie ik ben, is dat dan niet zo ongeveer de helft?
Maar ik doe niet wat ik moet, hetgeen dat mij bedelft.

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.

Iets maakt dat ik niet zeker ben
over wat ik weet, ik vergis,
denk dat ik niet zeker ken,
of vergeten wat het is.

Want zoveel is het niet, besef ik
en dat valt me soms erg zwaar,
het voelt alsof ik weet wanneer
maar pas na de afspraak waar.

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.

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.

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.

Uitgekookt en uitgedacht,
de denker ziet niet langer pracht
in de dagelijkse dingen.

De denker is verroest
in beeldenweelde
en abstract idee
maar leeft niet langer met zijn vrienden mee.

De denker is een zelfloze egoïst,
die, zoekend naar de kern, genageld aan de grond,
zichzelf grondig heeft vergist.