cries of an insomniac

| apertoperladiscussione

Mother, I fear sleep. Not because I fear the dreams I might come across

⁃ I haven’t any left

Mother, I fear sleep. Because darkness doesn’t do the deed, and comfort has yet to find a place in my bed.

I fear the struggling hours that wait ahead as my brain refuses to shut down and my heartbeat counts the hours,

2, 3, 4

It’s five, mother, I can’t accompany the darkness anymore. Among these gentle rays of sun I shall pour caffeine down my throat and fill my mind with fiction so I may know the luxury of a dream once more.

When did sleep become this malfunctioned monster I fear for its control over my nights? This thief of dreams, abhorrent creator of unrest?

Mother I fear sleep, it’s become too tedious a task to achieve. I am exhausted, mother.

Where did sleep go, why has it forsaken me?

Simoné Visser

winter

| apertoperladiscussione

I pray that trouble won’t find you, that pain won’t get in the way. I pray that hurt will stay dormant, silent and tucked away on a shelf, thickly coated in non-stirring dust of years passed.

I hope that tears won’t reach those lips that seem forever ready to smile. I pray that your eyes stay dry. And I wish you all the goodness in the world, despite how hard we all have to try to reach it; even when there’s no money in your pockets, I pray you find happiness wherever you may come to sit yourself down. I pray you’d find a reason in every day to iron out your frown.

I’d wish it all for you, use all my good luck to make you content and happy and safe. I’d explore religion for you, beg the cosmos to never hand you pain.

And I know it doesn’t work that way, I know I can’t watch over you every day. I know I can’t hold you every night in the dark, I can’t make the bad things go away. I know I’ll eventually fail you, I know there’ll be a day you’d abuse the words “I’m okay.”

I know that winter has her time too, but I know her rains never stay.

Simoné Visser

Tell me where it hurts

| apertoperladiscussione

Tell me where it hurts, show me what I need to kiss better, all of it, any of it. You didn’t run when I mentioned it. You didn’t turn your back in silence when the soil got wet. In the muddy sunken earth, where you found me, you didn’t complain about the mess.

And I want to show you thanks. I want to shower you in everything beautiful. Awaken a smile on your face, every day. Warm your heart, cradle your head. Tell me where it hurts, let me feel the pain instead.

This is new territory; a new house, a new bed. I don’t have any of the words I need, to say what I need. I only have my arms and my heart and what’s underneath. And my smile to encourage and my eyes to speak. My mouth, made for all the kisses, and prayer-bruised knees.

Tell me, should I, could I, hold you any tighter? Can I make your burdens any lighter? Tell me, do these butterfly kisses make it any better?

Tell me where it hurts, and we’ll hurt together

Simoné Visser

when does it get better?

| apertoperladiscussione

When does it get better

the way you said?

because it’s been months and years of pain and I’d want to say, tears and

the most better I’ve yet to feel was with my fiends

where among the chaos I could slightly forget the thoughts and the things I feel or don’t

But even then amidst the blur of it all I struggle to find the silence inside that would make me feel alright

When does it get better? The way you said?

The most better I’ve felt was when chemicals were fucking with my head.

When does it get better? The way you say? I’d want to say I’ve felt it but I’ve only ever had a little taste,

Before the collapse would creep upon me like the creeping dawn and the better would slip into a nostalgic nothing that lasted for as long a moment as the set of the sun into her home

I’m waiting, I’ve been waiting, and your words have always been my hope

But I look at you and I wonder whether your words only had purpose in it to give hope, not truth

Were you trying to heal, were the words as much meant for you?

When does it get better? The way you say?

And if it does get better, tell me, Is it worth the tiresome wait?

Simoné Visser

do you dare to speak?

| apertoperladiscussione

Tortured mind, with your face so sleek, pink with the shyness of broken skin. Do you masquerade for more than men, do you dare to stomp your feet?

Forever a tread as light as sin, forever an eye on the end, on the end. Tired as the weakness you hide within, have you slammed against the door, again?

Palest face with fragile skin, hiding behind the sores. Silent predicament of man and men; have you touched what they won’t make yours?

In misery of beauty, within serenity of a smile, would you fold yourself into the folder of time? In the ache of perfection, in the heart of all that goes by, do you lift up your head and proclaim all a lie?

Simoné Visser

blush

| apertoperladiscussione

Enveloped in the wings of sensuality, cradling the blush of her femininity; Drop her and she’ll become the sea that drowns out eyes that itch in her breeze.

Did you catch her whisper in your ear?

Did you hear her reject your words of objectivity as she slipped like a shawl off the shoulder, and shivered

Away

On her own scent

Did you notice the sly peak of a thigh, the poke-through of a naked knee?

Did you hear her speak?

Simoné Visser

Disappoint me

| apertoperladiscussione

I’ve learned to build walls, impenetrable and clear, and I’ve painted them with all the words you don’t want to hear.

So that you may face my disappointment and hurt with every knock against my walls, and learn, with knuckles red and blue, what pain I’ve been feeling because of you.

And I’ll leave you to it, leave you to your helplessness and regret, and hope that I come to be to you, what you now are to me. And then, perhaps, if satisfied with the bruises on your knees, I might just help you into an embrace.

Or I might just leave.

Simoné Visser

I’m mad

| apertoperladiscussione

I’m mad.

Mad that I don’t know whether it’s safer to leave my phone at home or walk with it. Mad that I’ve looked over my shoulder three times, and it’s not even dark out.

I’m mad that a car just drove by with two cat-calling men “complimenting” me on my appearance. Mad that my parents will probably tell me I should’ve dressed less provocatively so that I wouldn’t have drawn any bad attention.

I’m mad that the “friendly” old man standing behind me kept staring at my ass, mad that his wife kept giving me disapproving looks. Mad that he discreetly held at my waist as he walked past to place his order.

I’m mad that I had to order an Uber, because it became too dark for me to walk the one short kilometer home safely. I’m mad that my Uber driver asked me why a pretty young lady such as me is at a coffee shop all alone on a Tuesday night.

I’m mad that he said it’s not safe to go out on my own, and that I should get me “a man, that will make sure you’re always safe.”

I’m mad that my safety is assumed to be in the hands of men, when I know what suspicious things those hands are capable of.

I’m mad that getting a cup of coffee at my favourite coffee shop was such an anxious expedition. I’m mad that I’m not the only female that has experienced this. I’m mad that society still cautions the victims rather than eradicate the wrong.

I’m mad that it’s my fault that going to a coffee shop less than a kilometer away at 5 in the afternoon in a pair of skinny jeans and a cropped sweater warranted some questionable responses from the public(men).

I’ll say it one more time, I’m mad.

But it seems I’m not allowed to be.

Simoné Visser

Home

| apertoperladiscussione

Mother Nature, I want to collapse into your warmth like my wings no longer know how to flutter. I want to become victim to your storm, be dragged by your strength, so I wouldn’t have to try so hard.

I forever want to be with your serenity, but the camera never does your essence justice. So I go home with words, I go home to solace.

There’s no loneliness in your presence, when birds sound like love and water drips in arithmetic peace. There’s no hurt in the sound of crackling leaves beneath my feet.

They’ve forgotten how you feel. I’m not a child anymore, and my shoes have come to be our divorce. I imagine freedom would be my nakedness among your waves and leaves and, toes between the sands of your shores.

I fell so effortlessly, like a twig from your body, and got caught in the chaos of what’s below. I forgot that beauty is you and that peace is yours to know.

I hate to worship, but I do adore the fact that I grew from you and will become a part of perhaps something the chaos cannot claim.

I hate the thought of it, but there’s an unacceptable comfort in knowing that I was and will become a part of your name. A part of the dust in the stir of a breeze. The elements to a flower, whose type I used to love to keep on the the windowpane.

Mother Nature, with the life of me, I’m still selfish, but I’ll gladly hand over my pain.

Simoné Visser

an ode to friendship

| apertoperladiscussione

I need you to know

That

I do not allow just anyone to tread through my

spaces.

I need you to know that you’ll never understand your value

and what I’m willing to do for you.

I need you

to know

that the sun does not

set

without me thinking about you.

You’re part of the movement in my day,

part of my reasoning and

thought.

I need you to know that I need you

in my life,

among all the bullshit.

Simoné Visser

in your smile

| apertoperladiscussione

In your smile, I saw roses bloom. I saw the sun fall from her thrown, in awe of you. The waves slowly bowed, minute after minute, silently approaching your serene presence.

Do you know that they whisper about you?

Do you hear the silent breeze aching to touch your youth? Feel the stars gazing at you, the creaks in the trees twisting after you?

Do you know that they whisper about you?

Simoné Visser

A door wide open

| apertoperladiscussione

The tears still sting when I recount my regret. Retell the story of when I could’ve left, when I had the opportunity, a door wide open. Yet, I saw it as shut, in a zoned out, confused moment.

I still hold the tears back as I try to find comfort in another recollection of the story. Hoping it would sound less horrifying with the next time it leaves my lips.

They still don’t understand.

Neither do I.

Simoné Visser

fragility

| apertoperladiscussione

Look at all this sadness in everybody. I swear I could touch it, and it would feel like ice. I’ve had to avoid one too many pairs of pleading eyes – it hurts to peep inside.

Look at all the broken people wearing their pretty smiles. I swear not one of them have a perfect life. I swear I’d cry for every story told. Someone cried to me that the worlds a terrible place – at only 14 years old.

Look at me and tell me how I should not weep when thinking of all the hurt being suppressed. I’ve been digging in graves to try and let the demons free, but there’s too many people and not everyone’s willing to dig that deep.

Please, look at me and tell me why you’re on your knees.

Simoné Visser

Flickering facade

| apertoperladiscussione

All these lights, a thousand lies hidden in the darkness of their flickering. How entrancing a facade, when Radiohead echoes their piano melodies in the car and I lose touch of where I am and where melancholy’s road bends. I forget what blue feels like below all these passing orange-reds. Am I moving or simply feeling the sensations whirled up in a dream. Is it purely an awakening – shining as the green light waiting ahead?

Simoné Visser

sweetest darling in red

| apertoperladiscussione

Lady in red, how sticky do your fingers feel? Ever so slightly burnt from touching what you know you shouldn’t, but could. How sticky do those scorched fingertips feel grazing against your pouting lips?

And you’ve hardly touched it.

Will you feel the burn for the warning it is or feign control to your self-deluded mind? Are you ready to create a stickier mess than before? Have you ever thought to stop the times the fiery sting crept through your nerves and told you; no?

Dearest darling with seduction painted on your lips, do you ever tire of burning your fingertips?

I doubt by now that those tears have any worth. How many people know where those curious hands have been?

Sweetest darling, you know you’re not as innocent as you seem.

Simoné Visser

Stranger

| apertoperladiscussione

Could I not avoid the trap? Your eyes pleading for it all, weaving through bookshelves, avoiding rules, luring my lips to yours. Sneaking past curious gazes, moving closer to your prey. Stirring up a storm inside of me, with a look playful yet wanting, intense. Moments out of a storybook, a subtle chase. Stranger, how did you capture me, how did you catch me so quickly? How did I collapse into arms I’ve yet to know? So willingly, desperately.

Was I purely a victim of perfect timing?

I still find myself seeking out those moments, in more strangers, more unfamiliar faces. But the moments don’t feel the same, don’t stir up the same feeling deep in my belly.

Stranger, could we ever make another perfect day together?

Simoné Visser

tragedy

| apertoperladiscussione

I long for tragedy. So I may voice the pain in words melodically arranged. So I may feel what it is to live, forever seeking sunshine.

And although I enjoy the light I bask in, and put my knees to the ground in thanks, life wouldn’t be as shiny if there weren’t clouds to rain down on me once in a while.

I long for tragedy so I may hand it over in a poetic package. So I may feel more than just the warmth of sun and contentment of a late Sunday afternoon.

Simoné Visser

sunken ships

| apertoperladiscussione

We used to have late night conversations that lasted forever, we were on that movie shit. And we both went and fucked it up so bad, fuck, never had any regrets before but, I had to decide to regret that.

Imagine if we used our heads and avoided the bullshit. Perhaps I could’ve still had your back, perhaps you could’ve had mine.

I know you need somebody to make sure you’re alright. And I’ve been avoiding you, yet wondering, hoping you’re good.

Regardless of the mess we made, you’re still that person I wanted to pick up the first time I saw you fall.

Simoné Visser

sunflowers

| apertoperladiscussione

I’d like to believe the theories that make things seem more okay. I’d like it all to make sense before I collapse into decay.

You said there’s no need for knowing, you said it’s all alright. You said that what I don’t know is how I’m able to sleep at night. You told me not to scratch for answers, to just live for what feels right. To lose myself in moments and not in thoughts of things I don’t understand. Said if things get tough I may squeeze your hand as hard as I can.

You said you’ll be my comfort, you said I shouldn’t fear. Said it’s time for coffee and a croissant, that its time to get away from here. Here in these four walls that hide me from the day, these ceilings that hang as low as my spirit on cloudy days.

I loved getting lost, kissing those coffee flavored lips, and thinking of nothing with you on the porch, your cigarette lit. I loved listening to you read to me, poetry and sometimes just tabloid shit. I loved your voice comforting me, and thinking; this must be it. This must be what it’s all about.

Serenity is adopting optimistic ignorance instead of doubt.

You taught me there doesn’t always need to be something to say. Taught me that rhythm and blues is sometimes the best way to make the blues go away. You said you’ve got me no matter what, but you can’t promise that you’ll stay.

Yet it felt like it might just be me and you forever those times you’d bring home sunflowers on a rainy day.

Simoné Visser

forgetting

| apertoperladiscussione

I remember that time we collapsed below the autumn trees, the leaves floating above as golden as the unique little specks in your eyes. There was no breeze to be felt, no sound – besides our deep breaths from running through the thigh high fields of weeds. Terrified of what may or may not be lurking among our frantic feet.

After you caught your breath you sighed, asked me what life would be like if we had more time to be children. If we weren’t so quickly polluted by this world with it’s dark influences surrounding our large, absorbing eyes. Our ears wide. If we were allowed to grow up at our own pace, sheltered from all the bad influences and prejudices. If we had a choice, would we really choose to grow up as quickly as we did? If the internet had no hold on us and bullying was not a thing, if circumstance did not have us forced to raise ourselves and siblings – would we be as unknowingly mature and wise?

I pondered, I agreed, but I drifted off as you continued your rant, reminiscing, drifting off on nostalgia. I stared at the blue beyond the rust floating above and tried to pinpoint the exact instance I was forced or chose to grow up. Was it when moma went through the worst? When I had to pretend I understood? When I had to pretend I didn’t know for the sake of accommodating peace? Was it simply when I turned seven and my little sister swept into my world so unexpectedly? And I suddenly had to understand that the world no longer revolved around me? When my age seemed significantly greater and I realized that i’d have greater responsibilities once I became my older self, ones that this little sweetheart will never know. That I’d have to be the strong, supportive, protective one, to protect her fragility and innocence?

But no, I already sound so grown up, at that time I already understood so much. Was wisdom simply ingrained, was growing up purely a consequence of it?

I drifted back as I noticed you get up. You asked me to jump into the pond with you, and to forget of the days of opportunity where we could’ve taken our youth back. To rekindle the light that somehow blew out so quickly back when we were five, or seven or, twelve. To forget that beyond this capsule of quiet and nature we were considered grown ups.

And I jumped, your hand in mine, into the murky waters, ice cold. The art of forgetting – seemingly nostalgia’s sweetest cure.

Simoné Visser

do I stay?

| apertoperladiscussione

I found myself falling through waterfalls. Drowning beneath the weight of a soothing force. Unable to breathe. To scream.

I found myself blinded by external tears. Salty and clear. Desperate for the days when my eyes stung with the heat of sun and not such, sadness.

I found myself floating, below it all, inside it. I found myself asking, do I stay?

Do I keep to the depths and see how long I can hold this breath of anticipation and neglected hope? I couldn’t feel the sunshine, even when it burnt my face. I couldn’t touch the warmth, I still found cold in every warm embrace.

Do I stay where my tears can’t imprint on my face? Where water swallows it as soon as it surfaces, like it never existed in the first place?

In the depths of sorrow, drowning, senseless to the pain surrounding me, I found myself asking, do I stay? Do I wait it out, become the rain?

Simoné Visser

understanding regret

| apertoperladiscussione

I found a pain that hurt more than anything I’ve experienced in the past. Pain that seeks affection in places where I’ve lost myself in moments I should have avoided.

It’s forever me and my mistakes. Brewing my own demise. My downfall is my own doing, I’m the reason I trip and collapse.

I debilitate myself with regret. I know that moments can’t be undone. And I despise that truth.

I built my own trap, put my heart in a place where I’d never get it back. And I could not understand why. Why you had no intention yet ended up with my burdens.

I lost myself in a moment thinking good would come from a content day.

I found myself dreaming up an ideal as if this life accommodated happy endings. As if simple times could stay that way.

Simoné Visser

unsuspecting

| apertoperladiscussione

That darling, she’s a storm. She’s the the dark rolling waters drowning all peace. She’s shadowy clouds with silver linings unseen. The unhappy days that leap as soon as the sun creeps upon your cheeks. She’s the bitter taste so unexpected, from a glorious fruit so unsuspecting.

Simoné Visser

predicament

| apertoperladiscussione

Not so pretty but all the boys still want a taste. Not a fan of the attention, but still refuses to let it go to waste. Disappointed that her body is all they want but, at least a part of her feels wanted. At least it’s cause she’s desirable that she’s taken for granted. She finds temporary approval when she’s with another beautiful asshole between the sheets. She finds acceptance that lasts as long as he does, though this acceptance feels shallow and cheap.

And in the morning, he wants her out. In the morning regret and doubt lingers about. In the morning her dreams find the light. She was only good enough for the night.

Simoné Visser

just, let me be

| apertoperladiscussione

Will you do me a favour, tell me a lie? Say that you didn’t do what you did. Say that you didn’t mean it. Better yet, don’t apologize, like there were no mistakes made. Like you didn’t betray me, just let me have one good day. Don’t come by, don’t touch your knuckles to the door. Don’t try to look me in the eye, with those sad eyes of yours.

Just let me be.

Let me pretend, that I still have love for you, that I still have a friend. That your stupidity is not the end of such a long lasting friendship.

Don’t try to hand over your apologies, as neatly wrapped as they may be.

If I don’t acknowledge what you did today, today you have not hurt me.

Just let me be. Just let me pretend that today is not the day that you have wronged me.

Simoné Visser

vulnerare

| apertoperladiscussione

Now is genuinely not a good time to intrude onto these roads that weave through the emotions my heart supposedly encapsulates.

I will not beg you to tread lightly, I will not warn you of the tender spots as you approach them and trod all over it. I will sit in silence, not acknowledging you or the space you have entered – the thoughts of pain muted by default. Until you’ve reached the deepest, most vulnerable spot and initiate a ripple of emotion.

And there, you’ll see, a child exposed by means of tears. The face of maturity dripping away as everything silenced finds it’s voice.

Oh and I dare you not to fear, not to regret the time you went and spent your energy on trying to uncover what this perfectly happy face has to bare.

Simone Visser

appearances

| apertoperladiscussione

Listen, tell me what your days look like. You seem like you’re doing okay, are you?

Tell me what time you set your feet on the floor. To get up, does it take all of you? Do you have your breakfast, do you shower first? Does it take all of you to do either?

Do you care about your outfits, carefully brush your hair? Do you dare to look into the mirror? Do you put your shoes on with a sense of anticipation for what the day may bring, or sink into them unwillingly?

Do you even make up your bed, open your curtains to let sunlight in? Or do you keep your room as a reflection of what’s going on inside of you?

Do you like things unkempt?

Why?

Tell me what your days feel like, you look like you’ve got it all together. Do you?

Simone Visser