To breathe again / preview

This is a preview of a new story I'm working on that's called To breathe again (or at least that's its name for the time being) that I'd like to share with you. Please let me know what you think of it, it means the world to me!

The floor was cold and so was her body, her broken body. Her skin was pale because of the lack of sunlight and her hair was greasy. Her once perfectly manicured nails were broken and she could not remember the last time she had showered. Kate had been locked up in this room, this cell, for a long time. The walls were grey and so was the floor. There were no windows, only one metal door which could not be opened from the inside. She thought she was in some kind of basement, but she was not sure. She could be on the top floor of the building just as well.

All of this was horrible and disgracing, but Kate did not care that much about this. What she was most worried about was how the most beautiful boy in the world, Zachary, was in pain. Zack was in so much pain, she knew, and she could not do anything about it.

"Mother of God, can't you do anything?" a voice said rather loud from somewhere behind the door. She moved over to the door slowly so she could hear properly what was going on even though she did not want to hear it. She would have whistled if she could, to stop the sound from entering her ears, but her throat was dry and her lips painfully chapped. Now that she could not ignore the sound she would rather hear it clearly than having to worry about half-heard words.

She heard a sickening thud and she wished she hadn’t.

"Boy, you've disgraced not only us, but your family too! Your ancestors would be extremely humiliated. How could you do that to them? Don't you have any shame?" These manipulating words were followed by a long silence. It was so silent that Kate could hear Zack groaning in pain.

It hurt, like sharp knives carving into your flesh. Her lip quivered as she thought of her boy lying there in obvious agony without anyone –without her - to hold him and tell him it will be alright somehow, someday.

She stopped herself from sobbing and leaned her back against the brick wall carefully. Her back ached but it didn’t matter, because it was nothing compared to those red hot knives that made her insides throb. If it wasn’t for Zack, she would have given up weeks ago. If it wasn’t for the love that she held onto with all her strength, she would have curled up in a ball and shut out the world.

Hope was too big a word for the confined space left in her manipulated head and broken heart. She heard footsteps and then the closing of a door and she relaxed. She had made herself believe that they only hurt him when she could hear, so as to torture the duo at once. She stretched out on the cement floor slowly, feeling her joints pop. She focussed on a happy memory and forced herself to shut out sound, feel and sight by closing her eyes and relaxing as much as she could. She needed to stay strong mentally. 

Tuseme Children Empowerment

Als je op de titel klikt kom je op de blog van mijn studiemaatje Nina.
Zij heeft een eigen project opgericht in Tanzania, op deze blog kan je er alles over lezen en leer je ook hoe je kan doneren zodat je de kids kan helpen! :)

I hate the way you look today

And so tonight

I’ll remember your shaky hands as you

Unscrew the lids

Of those shady bottles

I hate this part

And I hate the way you look today

I hate how darkness surrounds your bright green eyes

I dissolve into nothingness

A little more

A little further away

Each time

You move me

Turn me upside down

I’m shaken so shaken

Each time

Oh and I hate the way you look today

I hate the grey of your greasy skin

I disappear EVAPORATE

I am less than what I’m worth

I am tiny so tiny now

I am gone

vuur en ijs

Met mijn handen
naar de lucht en
mijn ogen
wijd
hield ik van de wereld

Met mijn handen
wijd en
mijn ogen
naar de lucht
hield de wereld van mij

Publiciteit

Naar aanleiding van mijn gedicht F. is deze foto (grote versie) gemaakt door Jan van den Berg in Middelburg. Dinsdag 26 januari zal over dit project, waar meerdere dichters bij betrokken zijn, een artikel komen in de PZC. Dit project is n.a.v. nationale gedichtendag gestart.

Op 'mijn' foto zie je het beeld dat het gedicht oproept -handen die elkaar loslaten- in beeld gebracht door Jan van den Berg dus, mij en Joost van Kampen.

Ga naar http://www.dedikkeophaal.nl/gedichtendag.html voor meer informatie.

Bindingsangst

I
Laat me ermee ophouden alsjeblieft. Ik ben te moe, wil dit niet meer. Laat me de kaarsen uitblazen, mijn koffer pakken. Je mag me laf noemen, of bang van het bekende. Je kan woorden naar mijn hoofd slingeren die scherp zijn als jouw nagels in mijn hand.

Maar mijn keuze is al gemaakt, de weg terug afgesloten en dichtgebrand. Berichten wil ik niet meer ontvangen, geen tekens van leven uit jouw wereld. Ja, doe je ogen maar dicht, ga maar slapen, vermoeid van mijn klagen. Ik doe de deur wel zachtjes dicht en zal de sleutel door de brievenbus gooien.

II
Als ik de tijd kon stoppen, had ik het allang gedaan. Op dat moment voor de twijfel inslaat zal ik willen leven, in die perfecte stilte. Vóór mijn angsten wil ik zijn, dat bekruipende gevoel te vlug af.

Jij snapt me niet, hebt dat nooit gekund. Ik verwacht het al niet meer van je, ik weet wel beter. Je kan je beter zorgen maken over dingen die je begrijpt, dan je mooie hoofd breken over onbegrijpelijke zaken. Hoe zou jij ook kunnen begrijpen dat ik niet meer naar je verlang vanwege die ziekmakende angst, vanwege die schrikbarend grote brok die mijn slokdarm blokkeert?

Ik wil je hebben, maar durf je niet te houden. Ik wil één nacht, geen duizend-en-één.

Vraag of ik om je geef en ik zal het altijd beamen. Vraag niet of ik ervoor wil vechten, daar ben ik nooit goed in geweest. Als jij het strand bent, ben ik de zee: altijd zal ik terugkomen, een ongebroken cyclus van aantrekking en afstoting.

III
Er zit zoveel muziek in mij. Muziek overal, barstensvol zit ik. Tot de nok vol. En ik blijf maar vullen, want overal is muziek: mooie muziek, harde muziek, dodelijk eerlijke muziek. Er zit muziek in mij, een hoofd vol met symfonieën. Er zit heerlijke muziek in mij. Overal, en enkel hier.

Soms zit ik ook een beetje vol met geluk. Een extase van een eeuwigheid, verpakt in één etmaal. Geluk tot in mijn tenen. En ik zou ook wel vol met geluk willen zijn, voor altijd, maar ik zit al vol met muziek.

Er zit liefde in mij. Liefde voor alles, liefde alleen voor jou. Ik wil vol zitten met liefde, egoïstische liefde, zelfzuchtige liefde, materiële liefde, alle liefde.

Er zit angst in mij, gecamoufleerde angst en duidelijke angst. Verstikkende angst, alom aanwezige angst. Schenk het geen aandacht en het houdt zich stil. Je moet je angst vergroten alvorens het te vernietigen. Waren we allemaal maar zo dapper.

Ik wil je toezingen met al mijn muziek, je laten delen in mijn geluk en je er ook een beetje mee overspoelen. Ik wil van je houden, je blind liefhebben. Ik wil onvoorwaardelijk bij je zijn, je lief vinden tot in de eeuwigheid, al mijn liefde op jou projecteren.

Neem jij mijn angsten weg, trek jij mij op, uit het duister? Kus jij de tranen weg, fluister je ware woorden?

Ik ben

zo

bang.

Wounds

Shut up.
Her screams always made me almost want to hurt her.
I love her too much, I want her to love me too.
This is honesty and it feels like being naked.
I will not shut up.
I could almost see how my words made her brain work, how my voice made her skin tingle from anger.
I know her all too well.
Do you love me?
She was asking for confirmation, but I could not give it, not now.
Of course I did.
But why that question?
What did it have to do with our argument?
I did not understand it.
Because I want to know if this is still worth it.
She was almost a women, but could be so child-like honest sometimes.
That has nothing to do with our argument.
Shut up.
She screamed again, an animalistic sound, and I was really trying to keep my cool but it kept getting harder.
I will not shut up.
Not now, never.
You will one day, trust me.
I knew what she was thinking of and I also knew she wanted me to be hurt.
It was a disease, a curse.
She was locked inside her own misery and I was unable to do anything about it.
Now Zara, you are a heroine.
You are the cure to each and every wound I have.
But seeing you hurt gives me more pain than wounds could ever cause.
Of course I love you.
I always have.


Zara is sixteen.
She is beautiful.
When I tell her she is, all she does is roll her eyes and continue whatever she was doing.
But she is the prettiest girl I have ever known or will know.
She is smart.
Oh, my Zara is so smart.
She is way better than I ever was or will ever be.
If only she realized before it is too late.
I would give my life without a second thought for her.
Mum?
I answer with a swift nod.
I do not want to die.
I feel tears making their way to my eyes, thirsty for air, to see the world.
The world is an illusion, but I would give anything to live this illusion a little longer.
I do not want you to die either honey.
I know.
Her voice.
It is so perfectly honest but I do not want it to sound this way.
Because honesty is sadness in our case.
Do not give up yet love.
Dare not die.
I love you.
Always have, always will.
As Zara falls asleep in my arms I treasure the feeling of maternity that overwhelms me.
I sat like this sixteen years ago.
I held her through every storm.
I have always protected her with all the strength that I have inside of me.
My arms start to hurt but it is okay.
I would do anything to protect her.
I want her to live.


Zara and I have been in the hospital for the past months.
The people here are kind and try their hardest to make us feel a little better but we all know it is all for nothing.
My daughter will not live to be seventeen.