Of a man I am acquainted, so bland
even the colours of his clothing fainted.
He has a knack of drinking till he passes,
dropping in and dropping glasses.

He chooses not how loud he speaks,
he chooses not how soon he peaks.
He flails about, his arms and legs,
not consciously aware of the help he needs he begs.

I throw my attire, emit many roars,
check my surrounding for wild and mean boars.
So sure, I jump and swim to him,
grab his collar, pull up his chin.

He grabs me back and pulls me down,
still flailing, causing so us both to drown.

Today was a good day,
tomorrow is always a disaster,
tell her today.

Better off, her smell returned,
her cuteness left me concerned,
but her laugh and word,
escape the recurred.

I can barely even tell the truth,
unknown why I can not say,
dissapointed do I sleuth.

Enjoying the last bits of youth.

Two signs deciding the direction,
with one a subtle, strong connection,
the other is a question mark, both
roads seem so perfect. And you loath
making a choice.

But the choice will make itself in time,
you see, when plants are trampled, lines
of death, you assume your pick is solid
when the one you didn't take was squalid.

Stop assuming ****.

Not shaken, endlessly, mistaken, dead.
In nature I am sly,
when thinking rather shy.
Decisions in less than a day,
like whether or not you're going to stay,
should all be made alone on roofs.

I am the one who goofs.
Now please don't run away.
I can also take the check and pay.
You think of saying bye,
your clock says time to go back to my
not taken, hopelessly, forsaken, bed.

Fairly fair and very verified will you spill your time
the thing thou'd be the hardest of hard to see
the mustard sandwich that is no wax of your bee
the beans you also, whereas worth no less than a dime.

You are a gem, my lady, rough and smooth,
you are surrounded, lady, by your very own root.

the stairs were slightly changing
and I can not explain
the capacities, ranging
from heavenly to worth the pain

the walls were bending
and I have no clue
of the message she is sending
or those I send to you.

the door is open yet not
wide enough, slipping through
or away, both possible
and both I wished to stay.

Once the smoke hits the lungs and
you picture it hand in hand
with the sight of her adorable gaze,
you know you'll be in trance for days.

Merely laughter, merely the exchange
of looks and guesses feels strange
enough to question if this is what you
live for, what you were made to do.

Love her, fiercely but quietly, quite
lovely, fairly touched and very bright,
make her know she is worth the fight.

Was it ever more than certain, like this,
the things you hated, the flaws created,
will turn into the greatest that you'll miss.

I can hear you play the first songs
he taught you whilst I write this letter.
Because I cannot bear it anymore.
I have to tell who made you sell
to stay alive.

I strive to lead a better life
to be a better husband to my wife.
As I buried the writings with their mates,
I cried.

My reasoning states
that I never lied.

How you gently caress
each string
in your only dress
under his wing.

I've stopped working,
caring.
Failure is always lurking,
daring
what I never could.

My center, made of wood,
when burns
never returns.
You're left with ashes.

Your eyelashes,
your fingers,
all created lingers
and I never know for sure.

I guess that's how you lure
one man or another,
one of them being me,
as I see, you could be
the mother, bearing.

So I can revive caring
as an endless motion
in my wooden guts, my core.
You, bearing, three or four
as the door shuts
and you leave your instrument
behind.

Why did I drive a car that day?
And you must never hear me say
that I  used to drive a cab for money.
Even once, that moment, less sunny.
I slipped, derailed and was the origin of hurt.

His cane was useless after that.
And I drove all night to hush
my means. Never did I think I'd rush
away from such occurrings.

Sometimes when you're sad
I can hear you sneak.
You return to what you had
and your peak is what you seek.

A tear slips, escapes and drips
on your wooden harp.
The pain is sharp and brown
like your eyebrows when you frown
even though you're wearing your fifth gown.

And you're back but lost.
You lost connection to what you were,
not who, because the change
was slightly saying that all
you did was playing to wash
away the loss.

The strings or lines could have been bars,
the accident caused wars
in your identity.

The strings are getting rusty,
I haven't played since that day,
my style has turned uselessly fusty,
and I don't plan on changing my way.

The chords, slowly forgotten, will not
be played again.

Concerts will be put on hold, later on
cancelled.

If I had just one fan, small-eyed or freckled.
I would keep going, but I don't.

I'll go back to practicing.

He ships and carries information,
brings from one to the other nation.
He knows too much about all and
nothing, he needs to tell why sand
is slipping, between *******, in
times of tipping over.

His time is left to waste, his face
is pasted, copied, pasted, same
mistakes and same feeling.
Every connection is a small one,
all they say are problems, he
has the same but can't speak.

A good messenger is speechless,
he writes it down and continues
his message, only ears and hands,
no tongue to call it a day.

It's fair to say I need you
but out of sight means out of mind
I can't be the one who's left behind.

I'll never know what to do
If you don't tell me what you want
I can't
just wait, just be, I need to know
where it is you want to go.

I could have kept on asking
You could have kept on masking
what you wish for in this life.

Five vague no's for all my tries
while one clear one could suffice.

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.

Business skype notifications
and buzzing smartphone celebrations
are ruining my afternoon.
When did life become
a get rich quick scheme?
Arguably too soon.

What's the point of crafting and honing
and honing your craft?
For fame, for money, for love, oh honey.
That's not going to make you stable.

The only point of creation that holds up
is beauty. Things can be sad or happy or anything or
everything at the same time all the time and still be
nice to look at, or listen to.

Not everyone needs to settle down,
lives are different, some smile, some frown.
The answer to why or what's the point, to me,
is beauty, not as filtered pictures or filled up body parts,
as coming home from work and feeling your contribution,
noticing your difference even if it was without solution.

Or, more in an artsy way, the creation on its own,
its beauty needs only one beholder to be seen,
if at least one beholder has slightly grown,
enjoyed, the rolling, not the smoking of a joint,
that, dear me, is for me, personally, the point.

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.

I bit them off
chewed and chewed
and left with nothing
kept on chewing.

My teeth got crunched,
to destruction I lunched
and when finished
I noticed what had disappeared.

My fingers were shorter
and my face was pale.
I woke up to the sounds of tapping
imagined it were crowds of people clapping.

Imagined I was as magnificent as a two dollar meal.
The brown lettuce returned me to what was real.

Cardboard walls and clicking teeth, drops falling
on my worn out rags. If only I had had a calling.

Attention unclaimed, easily distracted,
along the way I may have contracted
some sort of disease, nothing to please
my set of emotions, set out to tease.

They say time heals everything, but
I'm concerned it doesn't, afraid to shut
my eyes, as it passes, someone loved
dies, next thing for them is to be shoved

into the hole of bitter forgiving and forgetting.
Time is only just a pain killer, not letting
pain control, still the actual disease keeps
spreading. Pain was killed and shoved into a hole.

When I remember all the loved ones, all
those parted ways, all who left before
their final days, I shut my eyes and stutter,
when will I fall, my blood be drained in gutter.

I tremble, I shiver,
your light made me wither,
as I crawled away in awe.
The vastness of your being,
brought me a sense, a second seeing.
The tense and terror crept up and
I fell down, breaking both my eyes
and legs, the rest, eaten by a gull
or a mouse.

I wish I never chose to work
at that wretched lighthouse.

Perspective constantly changes when
you jump. The end pose makes your
view a little rusty. You cannot change
your final vision. I want to keep jumping.

Forever, never be a solid stone or dry
scraped wood. Wind makes me feel chilly,
I get shivers because of rustling leaves.
People call it fear of failing, my mind, downscaling.

But then I see a person, empty as it seems
not constantly thrilled by massive gleams.
I envy those who can control, those with
purpose and a whole different point of view.

Be my supplement, fulfill my instable needs,
enlarge my passion with such might, so I
don't need to learn control. My failure feeds
on insecurity. Stop my jumping, make me fly.

Finally I've had enough, two sides
were halved and everything was
done for nothing. Enough strides
were fought, moments bought, does

the time I've spent seem useless, to her
it does then why am I the one trying,
losing pieces, selfawareness, dying
because she never intended the blur

she made me see. I'm done staring,
starting conversations, stopped caring,
she did not accept my love, she played
with it and I deserve better, darkest shade

replaced by brighter smiles. I'm looking for
another girl, devoting my poems from the core.

The worst leader of this decade
has lead the worlds will to fade
to rise above the will to grow.
Lower the bridge and let them bestow
upon you the way of reason.

The people fear their mighty leader
the anti-hero of a nation, the feeder
of their children. But they're wrong,
he should be stripped of power.
Where all see he too is wrong, no
one dares to tell him so.

And they fell in demise
for being too wise
and lacking the skill
of understanding social thrill.

Neighbour, best friends birthday,
so we went out to play
without inviting
biting
their arm and middle.

We went out for a climb
and we had a famous time
then his hand got stuck
we're both running out of luck

Friends broke up and they got off worse
it's like this week has been a curse.
She told me
she did not want to see
me or us together in the future.

I messed up my schedule
went in for just the facts
came back with a night stand
just one, while my friend almost lost his hand.

I feel absurd and unreal
I don't know how to pinpoint it exactly
the things that I now feel.
I wished things had gone differently
I'll miss all of you
all three.

Time to put the focus back on me.

I, on and off, catch myself asking why
and hushing my worries by guessing: 'just try',
which fails to answer the question so wry,
what are we doing and does someone know why?

People have told me to just go along,
whatever happens, the bad makes you strong.
Others compared, saying: 'you have it sweeter
than most who are born and early on greet her.

Many have said:
'please, just go to bed'.
But that's where I cry:
'Thoughts, please, tell me why!'.

I reckon to crack on ain't no full-time solution,
there's many more worries, like death or pollution.
And sometimes my guess is: 'it's goals I should seek,
to chase after change, even just for a week.'

The passing of time, more delightful when doing,
asides the asks loved and the asks worth their booing.
It may easily be, it differs for many
or for some we don't know, there isn't even any.

Now when the asking is on,
I need it less gone.
When the asking is not,
I'm amused by the thought:
I'm probably doing
something worthwile.
And the 'no question, no bluing'
alone makes me smile.

Even if blurry, it all has it's aim,
there's just no instructions to life's little game.
Sometimes you ask: 'How do I live up?'
sometimes you reply.
They both have a purpose, so please do not give up
on asking the why.

I can't help but think
staring at the rink
when it comes that
it will never go, what
is life worth living,
lived only giving.

But i see it is my desire
like a bird on a wire
to repeat the past
longer does it last,
each time a little more,
a little deeper in the core
of my wrecked heart.
Put a new one in the cart.

Don't read in between,
take time for every line
until all is seen, mean,
let it sink and
understand
she will not be mine.

They had to end
but why like this
Emptiness
My care is never
something I pretend
I wish I was clever
and hadn't pressed send

I keep walking on the pathway that is life
dreaming of every girl that gives a simple sign.
I know I cannot have her, yet I want her to be mine
Even though we've never even met each other.

The connection, only I seem to notice it
And every evening on my bed I sit
crying like a little girl that lost her mother
And I try so hard not to bother.

It makes no sense, but there she is
on the other end of the hallway this
happens without thinking, just staring.

She turns around, her eyes, so godlike and divine
in a glimpse my thoughts and Orpheus' align.
I wish I could make you my wife.

Mostly it's reversed, this time, not.
Rejection equals friendship in a way
unimagined. Now it's all I've got.
For the moment I notice, the second
I see, just when I know you'll never
love me. I turn it off, I cut it out.

The feelings disappear all at once.

I'll never look at this the same,
open my mouth with such unfair shame.
Of care I took and time I spend, hoping
to blend, in a different way, I guess I am
happy, and hope you will stay, a part of
my life, as a friendship resemblance.

I'll search again, for more prominence
in eyebrows, this time.

Je schouder en je schoot, mijn kussen,
je lieve woord mijn dag te sussen.

Je knuffels, mijn thee,
je warme ogen, kachel en teevee,
je lach, de radio zonder ruis.

Bij jou ben ik comfortabel,
bij jou voel ik me thuis.

Why do we hope when we should do?
Because, we are afraid, I'm telling you,
scared of growing up, not too happy with
time running out, with the future, like the
words that leave our mouth, time cannot be
reversed, time is a thing, to help us measure, cursed.

Waarom ben ik gestopt?
Heb ik schrik, ben ik bang,
heeft mijn gebreek me geklopt?
Ben ik dan gebarsten al zo lang?

Het is de dag van morgen
en die daarna en die daarna.
Dat zijn vandaag mijn zorgen
en de dag erna en de dag erna.

Het is zitten en wachten,
bij de pakken, naast de horens,
naar inspiratie smachten maar
niet vatten dat ze doorgaans

gezocht
en nagestreefd horen ste worden.
Was eerst je mond maar af en kijk daarna
naar de borden.

Ookal voelt het langzaam, het leven
gaat zo snel van de grote-handen-zoektocht
naar geruststellend neerwaarts kijken.

Ik dacht dat ik mijn angst en beven
in't verleden had gelaten. Toch
zie ik ze in jouw oogkleur het palet verrijken.

Het verstoppen achter benen,
het schreeuwen en het wenen
van nog niet naar huis te willen gaan
zonder je knikkers op je nieuwe oude knikkerbaan.

Ik hoop.
Ik hoop dat je tevree'd en opgelucht leert
dat de angst al afneemt met de zucht,
zoals het leven, tijdelijk,
dat elk onwengevoel passeert.

Heb moed, brave jonge puzzelaar,
je hebt 't nu al meer dan je nonkel ooit,
alles bij elkaar.

It is not right
wait longer.

You're hired, start monday,
seize that day,
take it,
it's yours.

Off course, unmanned
no map, nothing planned,
no lookout, no captain,
no treasure.

Passing hours, passing notes,
wandering the sea
on different boats,
living the illusion you are free.

Let the waves carry you
let the tides, the moon and the wind
guide you away from the times you've sinned
only to return when true,
completely torn apart from value,
blue and red, steady,
don't let anyone knead,
wait until they've fled,
when you are ready.

Stop relying on food
to make yourself feel good.
Do everything earlier than said,
like waking up and going to bed.
Listen to the stories of your father
and drink plenty of water.
Do one thing meaningful at least a day
and, like, 85 percent of your worries will go away.

Meditate when it's dark and late
instead of scrolling and growing hate.
Life is fun. If you find the framework
you can make doing the same work.

Remember the meaning behind
the ends and when with doubt in mind,
remember to at least be kind.

I have to write in my diary,
I have to tell someone what's going on
I have to watch a motion picture
I have to finish tasks for French and Dutch.

Having written, having told, it's gone,
having watched and having finished, priory
fruits in life start growing, how to pass a stricture,
because a girl out there, forever unknowing, simple touch,
is so cryptic, close to crime.
I hate time.

Ik ben misschien nog
soms toch eenzaam.
Dan zo het zonnetje zien verschijnen,
doet de zorgen van de dag
een beetje, deels, verdwijnen.

Beste toekomst,

Je maakt me bang voor later,
werk zoeken, smeltend water,
crisis, geld en banken,
teveel eten en toch willen afslanken.

Mijn kapster heeft haar schouder gebroken
en mijn uiterst linksboven hangende kies
die is ontstoken. Ik verlies precies stukjes
van mezelf met het verlopen van de tijd.

Lieve toekomst, je doet me schrikken
als ik kranten lees, als ik op het toilet zit
met mijn broek op mijn enkels en mijn
neus op feiten, koppen, problemen
die we moeten stoppen, oplossen
en het gebrek aan groene lucht of bossen
bloemen voor de bijtjes.

We zijn met teveel, toekomst,
teveel voor jou om te dragen.
Wat kunnen we doen om jou te helpen,
het vergiet te stelpen, welke vragen
moet ik stellen opdat u het beter zou?

Ik ben zo bang, toekomst
dat we verder moeten zonder jou.

Ze sluipen soms zo
in ongelooflijke begrippen
dat mijn rode lippen
grijsgedraaid
in lichterlaaie
onheil zaaien.
Die dichte, druilerige dagen doen de
tijd vervagen.

I used to think the top
was most amazing,
the cream of the crop
was the most dazing
momentary bliss.

You showed me wrong
with just your being,
made me see the beauty I wasn't seeing,
simple, still, something you wouldn't want to miss.
You cried, I swayed, you gazed, I pried
and discovered the forehead kiss.

It was touching even if followed
by soaking me in ****.

Zal ik voor jou vertalen
wat je niet kan zeggen, voelt,
zonder piekeren, malen,
opdat je sneller ziet wat je zelf bedoelt?

Laat mij je tolk zijn,
je draaikolk zijn,
je meenemen naar een vloeiende,
ongekend hard boeiende,
versie van je zelf.

Ik zal voor jou vertalen,
van binnenkant naar
bovenste beste, buitenkant verhalen,
zelfs al klinkt dat raar.
Ik wil graag voor jou vertalen,
bel me op en zeg het maar.