The world was gone for those hours
Another took it’s place
I walked the little roads
I saw your face
The place was both inside and out
I explained and I learned something new
//
This story alternatively
I fell asleep because of starting a migraine
I woke up tired and exhausted.
It sounds like dream,
It’s just spelled slightly differently
And the fogg and frustration
clouding are me.
//
Others might be able and I
I feel anger and unable
theories I thought are proven-
ever I want to leave.
//
There seems to be a storm
A slight drop and rise in pressure
visions of healing hands.
This too shall pass.
My belly it hurts-
It hurted like this before-
Waking up from a nightmare-
so horrible and strange- so real.
I tried this time- while it was happening
to stand up for myself. To tell them-
that my heart shouldn’t be played like that.
That I don’t breath like this – and that I need the suffering to end.
And I can pretend- or even feel that indeed me
standing up for myself helped- yet I’m confronted
with the dream and all his terrifying details that
grew itselfs inside myself.
I thought the other day- maybe the dreams are always there
twisted and and restless, normal and uncanny- just some days
they haunt me like nightmares- some times like friendly reminders
of who I love and who I miss. What to discuss.
How do I tell this dream: thank you for reminding me-
that my heart isn’t rudderless- that I can say no myself
that I might miss the friend but not the heartbreak.
that it’s good that It’s in the past and I don’t need a
reminder that the future and now can be twisted as well?
My belly like my dream is a bit twisted and restless and sad
and yet. Every poem needs a hopeful strand- like every
nightmare has- even when it all comes to pass I’ve managed
to stand up for myself.
Live the life you always wanted,
It’s not a broken chair, it’s a piece of art.
follow you dreams, your heart
and what not. They are such
beautiful phrases and yet- it makes
me feel sad because of what
comes rushing in when you
long for something- shame for
wanting what you want, guilt for
not making it true, fear of what
if it doesn’t work out, and what
if it does.
Rejection is a given, when
grace doesn’t take root.
And I see this little girl
who literally fell flat on
Please appriciate the matching of de yellow dress with the yellow eyes
her face of what she is playing on.
and she was upset so I tried
to distract her, but no, right away
she wanted to get back on.
And I wonder some times where
that little girl hides inside of me.
And I read the stories, see the stories
feel the stories of a woman fighting
for the right to choose, be chosen,
be acknowledged and despite all the
rejection and mocking and anger
they faced they went on smarter-
If there is a chance of being covered
in rotten foods- wear a cotton dress-
it does come out, that’s what washing
machines are for.
And I wonder where that woman hides in me
and I’m putting on my cotton dress.
There is a tenderness taking root in me,
And a flower will grow between the pebbles
of frustration, sadness and what shouldn’t
be. Dream or not, the next choice, next step
is by me.
*part of the poem was inspired by ‘de straat op’ an exhibition in the Public library in Amsterdam about dutch suffragettes. https://www.oba.nl/actueel/exposities/Exposities/de-straat-op-.html?gclid=Cj0KCQjw_5rtBRDxARIsAJfxvYANCW7-sjJCVC1LfRPACXmTYNmd94s_xZ15_oMrwDYno8bMdWu6QgkaAnIBEALw_wcB
The Joy and Vulnerability of working with kids.
The kid knows more than the average adult about history
But when I watch him write he takes the longest time.
He tells me that during Monets life there were two world wars.
It didn’t say in the book, but he knows it from the dates- he just
doesn’t know how to spell ‘world’ yet.
Teaching myself french again- long live duo lingo
And to see kids having their strengths so differently.
I feel small– Ill-equipped to help them make sense of it all
when half the time I know as little as they do.
But then again I remind myself that so often I remind them
of how we are in school to learn- and that each of us learns
on their own terms, in their own time. And I guess the
time to learn right now is mine.
I encountered them.
The peace water
-today, the itchy parts-
when someone hurts
near you.
I want to just
touch and make it all
ok again. I want to go,
to know, and improve.
but it’s so easy to go to
‘I’ll never be good enough.’
And yet in the mess
of the walls that we are
stuck in between. and yet
In all the mess of the different
parts of the world that
the others live in-
and it is hard to understand
why we can’t share.
In the mess of all the
frustration there is hope
because the frustration
was born from a dream
And the dream is beautiful
The hope that is a setting sun
and free-
and in the mess
of all of this, we started
making something. something
new and free. A place
where perhaps those itchy
parts can heal.
I haven’t written in a while-
But I’ve been exploring my
storytelling side- I’ve been
looking around- to see my
muse. See what she says,
Why she is silent, or how
she speaks. I’ve been making
things. beautiful things. ok
things. new things. old things.
And I’ve been sharing them,
Giving them away without fear,
without shame. They
can simply be- be- here.
Evolve, transferred and rejoiced in.
And it is different- than it used
to be. And it’s the same in away
and yet. I thank the lord for new
things. and for everything he brings back. 
to dream
Back and forth
and in between
and every time we speak
I understand that
I
What I wrote without words
only see a part of you
in between the words
we speak
I always wonder in a way
how many I get to love
before I have to stop
Get to stop, and
I’d classify myself as a dreamer
Daydreamer even perhaps
exploring unknown problems
in my head, making anything
possible with just a thought
and then just leaving it on a
shelf, knowing I’ll get to it.
There are people that have
dreams for their lives,
what’s more, they have five-
year plans. I’m not sure
where I am, in five years
but I’m also
not sure if I thought about
it. dreamt about it.
But maybe somewhere
hiding behind a fear of
impossibilities, there is a dream
inside of me. Maybe it
came with the shelves, as
something, there for me to
find. When I am brave enough
or stupid enough to try.
I used to make lists-
What I want- I would write
on top. and then anything like
learn a certain skill, buy
something I’d seen, something
I admired. I think ‘a boyfriend’
even at some point got onto there
List of things little moments to
sit and dream. Smal things,
but also bigger things. Get a
degree or something like that.
Thinking of the lists I’m sitting
no again here and think that
perhaps it was never really about
the big things. Never really put
too much on lists like marry by
21 or kids by 23, missed both
by any means. And yet. It’s
funny right. These lists- for me,
these lists were never a kind of
‘five-year plan’ sure, I scratched
a ton of these things off, but I
haven’t been keeping track.
they were never plans. just a step
back to see at that point in time
what kind of strange funny and
spontaneous desires had find
themselves into my heart.
Perhaps, now I once again am
on some kind of crossroad-
I should try to look back on
what I wanted back then, because
I can already feel the freedom
play some gentle music in the
background. Music that underscores
the beautiful process of making
small dreams coming true.
Lieverleesje 