White Privilege

his skin is
beautiful
but he speaks
of the colonialism
that’s embedded
in it and
the oppression
he was born
from

his skin is beautiful
but his mother
preferred the
milky white tones
of the other boy
she birthed
and made sure
he knew it

his skin is beautiful
but the white man’s
ignorance
is grand

he tells me he works
in what his
white peers
call ‘the exotic room’

this makes me want
to cry
fragile white tears

his skin is beautiful
but i don’t dare
tell him that
after the talk
we just had
my whiteness
wrapping its
hands around my
throat and squeezing
so hard
that my
vocal chords
fall out

I wasn’t aware of my own ignorance and privilege until I talked to this boy. I have posted some tools on how we as white people can become an ally to our black communities. Racism exists everywhere, even in a country that I thought was pretty liberal. I am Dutch and the more I learn about our country’s history, the more I realise I know nothing. Stay safe, be kind and keep and open mind and heart. Listen.

Ametisto

the stone
in his hand
is pure
purple
magic

he tells me stories
of its birthplace
spanish flowers
in the mountains
women dancing
in folk dress

and i can feel
something
growing
as the purple
rests on
my chest
for the first time

because a necklace
is never just a necklace
but a whisper
of a promise
planted softly
on bare skin


This poem was written about a piece of jewelery created by Joyeria Ramos.

Eindhoven in the Summertime

he asked me
if i would go analy
she said
while crossing
the zebra

there are three
of them
all blond and giggly
and i probably
wasn’t supposed
to hear that

i’m walking around
his city
which used to be mine
long before he
arrived
all hopes
and ambition
and with an accent
that makes my knees
shake

it looks like it is about to rain

i pass a striped top
with big tits
under the bridge
she reminds me
of that girl
who told me
my ex was still
living
with his wife

i text you
that i’m horny

the sun reflects
on the pavement
and the statue
of a maiden
pouring oil
for all eternity
catches my eye

i will sort you out
when we i get home
you say

home

i listen to the tapping
of a blind man’s cane
against the curb

the uber eats biker
pulls a face
and i give him
the finger

home
you said
and that’s exactly
what it feels like

Lilith

you come into my house
and tell me what to feel
as you wipe your feet on
my furniture
and shit
on my rug

you come into my house
and call me names
like whore
medusa
and lilith

when it was HIM
who was married
when i met him

(on wednesdays we smash
the patriarchy)

you come into my house
and tell me
to take responsibility
for your feelings
like i don’t have plenty
of my own

you come into my house
and tell me i am too
much of everything

too angry
too loud
too negative
too proud

you tell me
that my dishes are dirty
and my unwashed knickers
offend you

the devil blinks first here
and still
you come into my house

Saturday Night

he has the eyes
of a puppy dog
and knows
how to use them

dark chest hair
above the collar
of his shirt
turns me on
like a house
on fire

i watched you dance

his arms
are around my hips
when lightning
makes its way
across a darkened sky
the red neon letters
of a nearby hotel
standing tall
and bloody
in the night

i watched you smoke

it is difficult
to meet someone
she says

his best friend
with the long
brown hair
lights another
cigarette

i saw you smile

he is talking
to his friend
on the other side
of the balcony
but his eyes
return to me
every single time

i watched you drink

his hand is in mine
my face on his chest
as we slowly move
our tired bodies
to imaginary music
and i wonder if this
is what i had been
looking for
when i really already
know the answer