Poems

Week 3

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John and Paul voice: are you sad because you’re on your own? Eh. I get by with a little help from my friends (proceeds to listen to Cavetown’s Hug all ur friends on repeat).

(fuck punctuation)

listen I made the food then I
ate the food burned my tongue I blew
on it tasted the salt and oil swallowed
tasteless mouthfuls did not cry the city
breathes out a quiet chill echoes of
cutlery on plates and cats begging for
freedom my window wide open I wish
I could fly but here I am stuck
in place eating the food that I
made not crying books open and
discarded I want to jump scream
sing a song make a scene be a
bird I want to escape but I’m eating
the food and staring at the darkening sky
not crying my glasses
fog up the food is too hot
I am
not
crying

My feet pound a lonely beat on the pavement

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Here we go : nobody was waiting for this but I wrote it anyway, a sad lockdown-fueled poem about how much I love my city. Chance had me walking through Place de Brouckère one cold evening and its emptiness brought me to tears. Strange times…

Anyway, I hope everyone is safe and healthy and staying inside. <3

Wind-beaten squares pour into dark avenues
Desolate maze of cobblestoned limbs
Not even a ghost would dare
Put a sheet outside

What a strange world
Where solidarity means isolation
An open hand is fear
An empty room feels safe

Brussels, you taught me
How to love fading into the crowd
How to drown out sorrows in noise
How to find kinship in strangers

Brussels, the desert of your soul
Still moves me

Chores

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This poem is about how much I love pasta. (No, it is not.) (But it could be, because listen : I love pasta a whole fucking lot.) The word “chore” always makes me think of the song Stay (just a little bit more) by The Dø, which I hadn’t listened to in over ten years until I wrote this poem. 🙂

running my hands under
the water counting down chores
left to do I ask myself

was I in love with you
then last time I
cleaned this plate
climbed those steps
played that chord
cried on this page
watched the sun set through
my bedroom window

was the thought of you
unbearable did it soothe
the aching pit inside me begging
to see the exact shade in the pigment of
life

Winter

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I’ve been writing a lot of poems in the past few months (way more than have been published here), and I’m thinking of self-publishing a book of poetry this year. Some of these poems, including the one below, are also being worked into song lyrics. So, um, I guess a lot is happening on the artistic front at the moment. More info coming soon on these various projects! 🙂

I love you like the sun shines
Over Brussels in February

I love you like the wind blows
Uprooting trees, howling through hills

I love you like the rain hits
The shivering neck of your coat

I love you like night falls
On a barely thawed afternoon

I love you like the grip of icy fingers
From a red-cold hand, holding on

Sleeping on the couch

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She says “you should
go to therapy.”

She means “I love you
and I want you to
survive the deep waves
of sorrow that pull you
away from me, leave you
gasping for air.”
“I want you to thrive and
fan the spark of hope I see
gleaming in your eyes.”

I hear “you are broken
and I am not the person
who can fix you.”

I am broken.
I am not the person
who can fix me.