'Of all the stories you have ever written,
how many have you forgotten?'
And suddenly I remembered you.
We tend to tell people our whole story
Without letting them read the blurb on the back first
Giving them the option to put you back on the shelf
And allow the right reader to choose you
📖 📖 📖 📖 📖
Beyond that fog lies the unknown.
The way it can hide a whole city
may fill a hole in me
bury the trauma within
by keeping our memories blurry
it’s a natural response to forget
to never again recall that story.
the fog in this context can be our own comfort zone. in this fog you may hide but you are not alone.
i got excited by the cut on my finger
and the bruise on my thigh
(got one from making art
the other from chasing fun)
i've always loved that sort of thing
proof that i'm moving and creating
people will learn things about me
just by looking
i hope that they'll take an interest
flip through my pages
hope that my title and front page
can get them to read the rest of my story
i want you to ask me how i got
i want so badly to tell a story
I was making prints for my art class and i kept falling over while learning how to rollerblade. Loved both things and wish I could do them more.
Grandpa likes to talk
about the past, yet beware! –
maybe he's joking!
“Geheim Agent Opa” (“Secret Agent Grandpa”, 2020, Manon Sikkel)
For Lotte Woestenberg
Collection "On the fly"
Tell me your secrets, I want to know your life. Ill hold on to your grievance, and leave you without a strife. Your memories will tell me stories, your smile will show me your soul. We’ll walk up to the observatory, i’ll figure out this loophole.
Tiny lives he had trapped,
inside a big old jam jar.
They twirled and fluttered,
fire sparks of light afar.
His prize possession,
A starry piece of the night,
that brought him lots of joy
and gave off so much light.
Alas, they danced less,
a faint light they did make.
So, in a last act of love,
his jar he had to break.
And off they all did fly,
up into the darkest night.
He turned to his eyes up
and noticed all the light.
So consumed to keep,
a few stars of light,
he had failed to notice
the heavens shining bright.
I love telling stories with a message, and when it all rhymes its so much sweeter:)
A brink of clouded moonlight
amongst oranges and blood-kissed red tucked away between headstones
with stories longing to tell
You had no right to talk to me the way you did. No right to take ownership over me.
No right to tell me how to dress or even how to smile,
no right babe you were so sinister and vile. You crossed the line when you told me who I could talk to or what I could say after we were done. You master manipulator and I your puppeteer.
Said you’d always be here but you were the first to run.
You pulled me by the strings of my own heart and you didn’t even care about the hurting that would cause.
No one ever told
me that I was the villain
of my own story