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@mieckevanbeek

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Twee Gesig

Eie vel ʼn tronk. Vasgevang deur die links en die regs en die bo en die onder. ʼn Brein op krukke, vermink deur gene en die lewe.
Jy klop teen die letsels in my skedel. Wind uitgeslaan en oë wat opslaan na die hemel. My vingers met dooie klank in hulle.
ʼn Hartklop soos ʼn reguit lyn, 180. Drome ingeperk sonder die hulp van die aand.
Gevegte met bedoeling daarby en ek wat dit vir myself toedien.

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Twee Gesig.

Eie vel ʼn tronk. Vasgevang deur die links en die regs en die bo en die onder. ʼn Brein op krukke, vermink deur gene en die lewe.
My masker met meer as een waarheid. My waarheid met meer as een masker. die een nie meer as die ander.
Die impulsiewe, maniese, chaotiese, geluk teenoor die onskuld, skaam, teruggetrokke, hartseer. ek wat nou is en ek wat was.
Gevegte met bedoeling daarby en ek wat dit…

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the worst part of it all was not losing him, it was losing me.
late-nights-and-daydreams
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temporarypoetictrash
Someone told me once, To stop romanticising the early hours of the morning. That 2 am was not a poetic time, Just a lonely one. But even being awake in a sleeping house Is not lonely when you have someone to share it with. You may only exist half a world away, But it is not hard to stay awake for your sake, While your words reverberate in my skull as I read them. It is 3:13 in the morning when neither of us say we are tired. Instead we said that one day we’d own a karaoke comic book shop, And four cats. Instead we said neither of us were allowed to die Until we got to hug again. Instead we rationalized that 5,600 miles wasn’t really that far, And that I’d be there one day. But you are a cynical seeming soul, Who only ever utters kind words. You are ruthlessly dirty jokes, But rarely low blows. You are a face I miss seeing, And a laugh I can still hear the echo of, If I listen long enough. You are poppy flower veins And darkness illuminated by a computer screen. You are the smell of beer and the taste of chocolate. You are the knowledge on cloudy days that the sun is still shining somewhere. You are somewhere. They say, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’. I say, ‘What a fucking understatement’.

Weird Conglomerate of Previous Poems (via temporarypoetictrash)

late-nights-and-daydreams
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temporarypoetictrash
I don’t like reading my poetry outside- Because when I speak, I like to fill the room with my voice, And, much as I try, I can’t fill the sky. It’s like, Shouting into a void. Actually, no- It IS,  Shouting into a void. And, you know, People call people who do that ‘crazy’, And I don’t want to be crazy, But is it crazy, to want to be something? Sometimes I want to be something- Something more tangible, Than metaphors and flowered words. Other times, I do not believe there is anything more tangible Than metaphors and flowered words. Because there is power in rhetoric, And there is strength in speech. And I think maybe that’s why I do poetry- Because there has never been a revolution, That did not begin with a tongue, Learning how to curve around pieces of a protest.  Sometimes I think I’d feel safer with a more obvious weapon- Like a fist, Or even a gun, But then I remember, That kingdoms rise and fall at the tip of our tongues, And my lips carry more weight than any pistol has bullets. Remember, God did not handcraft the Earth into existence- Rather he spoke it to be, Because he recognized that no force could match That of raised voices, Metaphors, And flowered words.

Why I Do Poetry (via temporarypoetictrash)

sundayepiphany
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sundayepiphany
It’s hard for me to let go of you because there’s a constant battle in my mind between wanting you to be happy and wanting to be the one to make you happy.

- D.N. // excerpt from a book i’ll never write #84 (via sundayepiphany)