075;


Even years after disaster struck

I still sleep with my phone on.

I keep waiting for the call to come in, 

somehow, in its own twisted way

it is reassuring, 

meaning that even after the worst thing 

that could happen has happened, 

there is still more to lose. 


There are always disasters waiting to happen. 

My phone is never turned off, 

it is never left behind. 

I can always be reached, 

awoken from sleep, 

disturbed at work -

even if it is already too late.


I will always wonder,

will alway try to find an answer 

as to why you did not call me.

I would have left everything and everyone behind 

for you.


That night, that man, totally meaningless-

but you,

you were my universe.


Your phone was found next to you,

so why did you not call me? 





074;


it’s snowing -

& my mind is occupied with memories of you

I don’t even pretend like it’s healthy anymore

I shoved the past - 

and all the hurt and anxiety and tears and sadness,

that came with it

far far far away and never looked back 


it took a few years

but now it’s back -

without even as much as a knock -

the past just confidently strode in and took over


& oh my

the things I didn’t even remember 

the things I successfully forgot for years

now consuming my every thought 

my every dream 


I wake up with your name on my lips,

can still feel the lingering touch

of your hands on my skin

it was just a dream -

I keep telling myself,

it’s not just dreams though:

it’s memories


my mind a broken player;

stuck on repeat repeat 

repeat 



it’s as if the past is a prison

and I’m sentenced for life 



073;



last night
fireworks lit up the sky
celebration of a new year
a new beginning

it always takes me back
to this moment in the past
I guess because it’s something I’m trying to forget?
It’s minutes after midnight,
we’ve done the whole kiss thing
everyone is smiling, excited, drunk

but -
I am in the kitchen alone 
I needed a moment
like I often do,
a glass of champagne has somehow appeared in my hand,
but tonight
tonight I am painfully sober

I put my hand on my stomach 
still flat
no sign of the tiny blueberry sized life yet;
I have known for a few days 
it is not how I imagined my new year to start

but tonight
there is a handsome, blue eyed man
looking at me like I’m all that matters,
tonight doesn’t count
tonight is the end of a year
tonight is a new beginning

;
blueberry sized decisions can wait 

072;


I’m fine.

I’m fine.

I’m fine -

if I say it enough times

maybe it becomes the truth?

Let’s try it one more time:

I’m fine. 


I’ve tried it before;

I love you 

I love you

I love.... 

it never works. 


I’ve asked my heart time and time again to settle,

to pick someone:

to just beat a little faster,

a little harder

whenever that someone entered the room,

but it never does. 


My heart is stubborn and unwavering.

It will always be you,

no matter how many dandelion seeds blown to the wind;

no matter how many candles extinguished on birthdays cakes;

no matter how many coins thrown into fountains;

no matter how many fallen stars -

every wish whispered quietly,

& always unable to be fulfilled.


Nothing will bring you back to me. 



No wishes can change

who the heart decides to beat for.


"Loving you is easy

I can do it in my sleep

I dream of you so often

It's like you never leave"

Bright Eyes, Coyote Song


070;


Oh the longer the waiting, the sweeter the kiss
It's better my darlin', I promise you this
Next time I hold you, I'm not letting go
Will you wait for it darlin'?, I need to know

 

I think of you whenever I hear the song;

It makes me remember the time we danced in your kitchen: 
how you held me, how I leaned in against your chest. 

The song makes me remember that there was hope, at one point.
That there have been happy moments,
that I wasn’t always this sad:
once upon a time there was a grain of happiness. 


Slowly, slowly moving throughout the song.
If I close my eyes,
I can almost feel how your arms held me.
The warmth. 


It wasn’t love.

It’s never love;

but sometimes, even a grain of happiness is what’s needed for the time being

 

068;


I am sixteen,
the night air is cold against my bare thighs,
I gaze up towards the sky while my hand is trailing along the railing.
It is a clear night.
I close my eyes and feel the smoke fill my lungs;
feel my heartbeats slow a little,
feel the anxiety take a step back, 
I exhale and open my eyes.
 
I can hear the shower running,
can hear him move around -
I want his scent off of me,
want to wash away any traces of him still lingering on my body,
need to scrub his prints off my skin,
but I don’t want to join him.
 
I wrap the blanket tighter around me
the night air is making me sober up,
faster than I want to. 
Maybe I should leave before he comes back
sneak out like a shadow, a phantasm;
lets be honest
we all got what we came here for. 
 
 
 
 
 

067;


I watch Tales of the City for the third time,
glimpses of a community:
of unconditional love.
Friendship and history.
Of course: secrets and darkness too,
but mostly the foundation of community and love. 
 
It hits me like a punch to the stomach,
that I'm not a part of anything,
that I don't belong anywhere. 
I'm talking to friends:
we've been playing together for a couple of months now
and we're in a channel talking;
they know each other
they have such a long history together,
years and years of friendship and memories. 
 
I don't belong. 
No one knows me like they know each other,
and I tell one of them
how precious that is,
how it's something to hold on to. 
 
I don't tell them how I feel,
I try so so so hard to belong in their little group,
to be a part of something
but the truth is I don't really know how,
I don't think I can take being left again.
I don't think I can handle getting attached to someone,
I know how fragile a life is.
I know how fragile friendship can be. 
 
But sometimes
I really really wish,
that I wasn't that kind of person:
that I wasn't always the one on the outside looking in. 

066;


 
I ruin everything I touch
 
you were doomed from the moment I touched you

064;


 
the truth is;
a hummingbird
where my heart used to be,
used to beat 
no slow beats anymore
just the nervous flaps of wings
 
 
 

063;


Fotoalbum.
Familjen.
Norge sommaren 1998.
"Det måste du väl minnas?"
Nej.
"Du minns när detta togs väl?"
"När jag slutade 5:an, det står ju bredvid."
"Ja men visst minns du?"
Nej.
Alltid samma fråga.
Alltid samma svar.
Nej.

Det är så mycket fel med mig.

Hur förklarar man att jag inte ens vet hur man får hjärnan att minnas saker?
Det finns ingen play-knapp. Ingenting att spela upp.
En blank sida.

I bilen hem, jag lutar huvudet mot rutan och blundar:
försöker försöker försöker;
lyckas framkalla några trasiga fragment, genuina minnen.
Jag litar inte på minnen som finns fotograferade,
det känns som att min hjärna hittar på saker att fylla ut tomrummen med. 

"Nothing else matters" i en bil på väg hem från Kungsbacka, med hjärtat fullt av ångest.

Hur jag drar ner kepsen över ögonen där jag sitter i en trappa på något behandlingshem, besökstiden är egentligen över men jag får stanna lite till. J är i köket med de andra och äter tacos och jag lyssnar på deras skratt.

Jag står iklädd ett förkläde av bly i ett röntgenrum, Pices står med hängande huvud i min famn och snarkar till då och då med sin mule mot min hand. Hans mjuka öra mot min kind och jag viskar "Du måste bli bra, du måste bli bra, du måste bli bra" med tårar i ögonen.

Idrottsdag på skolan, jag får knappt ner luft i lungorna och håller min slitna gamla Nokia i ett krampaktigt grepp, väntar på att bror ska komma och rädda mig i sin lilla vita skrothög till bil.

Jag och Loke i skogen, barbacka: mina lår mot hans mjuka päls. Han har sommarmage efter betet och får skritta på långa tyglar längs med stigen, öronen spetsade nyfiket framåt och allt omkring oss är grönt och tyst, stilla.

Mitt hår är smålockigt utav regnet och jag möter min spegelbild i hallen när jag tyst tyst tyst försöker smyga av mig skor och jacka, försöker låsa dörren så ljudlöst som möjligt. Jag ler och stryker med fingret över mina nykyssta läppar.

 

062;


I look at the fluorescent stars

under the shelves next to my bed:

the memories make me smile every time,

reminding me that I have friends:

it might seem silly but it’s a needed reminder,

a welcomed one.

 

So many years ago 

my best friend put stars on the ceiling above my bed,

stars, planets and moons:

a whole universe in my tiny bedroom.

 

She said that it was for the bad days:

the days I struggled to get out of bed,

for the nights when the Sandman got lost in the darkness -

when sleep seemed light years away. 

 

“Everyone need their own universe” she said 

She didn’t know that she was the sun I was revolving around;

I already had my universe,

I wish I had a chance to tell her that. 

 

A year back I had a really bad day;

the kind of day I didn’t leave bed,

eventually I called a friend &

we talked for hours and I told him 

about my own fluorescent universe,

how I lost the pieces in boxes moving:

how I hoped to find them again some day.

 

A week later,

a small package arrived

no universe this time

just stars, pink fluorescent stars,

and a note:

“I’m sorry I can’t be there to help you put them up.

They’re for every day: not just the bad ones.

Make your own night sky.”

 

And I did. 

 

I look at the fluorescent stars and they remind me of friends I have,

and the friends I had,

they make every bedroom feel like home:

they make the bad nights a little brighter,

they make the bad days a little better.

 

Everyone need their own universe;

it shouldn’t revolve around someone else though. 

 

 

 

 
 
 

061;


He pulls my hair
I tell him harder
cause depression makes me numb and tonight,
tonight I’m tired and I want to feel something.
He pulls my hair but I said no choking:
there are rules -
at least I like to pretend that there are rules.

His other hand is moving, exploring:
set out on a mission to make me feel something, I suppose
it doesn’t matter

I feel him all tense and I say yes yes
(let’s just get it over with)

He says the name Sam over and over,
my name is not Sam but I’m used to it by now 
he’s a distraction: he’s allowed to use me,
allowed to pretend I’m someone else,
someone named Sam or likewise -
full disclosure.

My turquoise heels are not as easy to walk in the morning after,
like they agree better with the tequila than my legs.

His flat is like a fleeing memory:
morning sunbeams through the window,
the checkered floor in his kitchen:
for a moment I pictured myself as the queen -
how we’d carefully play around each other:
how in the end it is always a game we play.

060;


I know you think you’re helping
that this is the right thing to do,
maybe you feel powerless,
frustrated,
worried? 

It wasn’t the right thing to do;
it’s alright 
sometimes we mess up.
It’s alright, 
I have others to turn to. 
I’m not as alone as you assume. 

Things are not always
what they seem to be.
People are not always
what they seem to be -
how they seem to be.

I forgot the most important,
the most essential thing:
don’t let anyone too close. 

It’s quite alright
I don’t tend to make the same mistake twice. 
Years ago I learnt
that you can’t change people;
so you shouldn’t keep trying to.

Maybe there’s a lesson here,
maybe I’m just too damn tired.

Maybe everything isn’t what it seems to be. 

059;


 
time
what a strange concept
what a man-made invention to try to
contol something we have no control over
 
time
slipping through my fingers like grains of sand
my hands like hourglasses;
& for a long time now,
I have come to terms with losing control
 
much like time; the hours, minutes and seconds
I see my life tick away
- it is quite alright;
I surrender
please have mercy on me
I did what I could
 
 
 
 

058;


Faller isär
Lalalalalalala
jag föll isär idag:
hundra ledsna små bitar över golvet
 
 
 
 

057;


when I'm here I see all the lives I could have lived

all that was needed was a fraction of a decision
a change of heart
a declined application

and nothing would have been what it is;
and it's difficult when you look at it that way

I've forgotten what happiness tastes like -
feels like:
I think it used to come with a soft muzzle, 
a warm breath against my hair,
a friendship that passed every obstacle.

I've tried to tell myself that sometimes,
you need to break your own heart.
Sometimes you have to walk away. 


I'm not so sure about that anymore.

 

056;


sometimes I feel so lost
so so sooooo lost;
like I took the wrong turn years ago
and I can't figure out where that was or when it happened
I'm just staying on the road, 
keep going cause that's what people tell me to do
keep going
keep breathing
 
(beat, little heart, keep beating)
 
Is this what it's meant to be like,
being an adult? 
I'm barely holding it together:
but if you do enough things,
if you don't stop and think:
it almost works out
 
(beat, little heart, please keep beating)
 
 don't give up on me
 
(beat, little heart, please please keep beating)
 
please please don't give up on me
 
 
please
 
I'm doing what I can

055;


 
I don't hate him
- maybe I should
I mean I've certainly tried,
but maybe he's not worthy of hate
maybe feeling indifferent is a worse punishment
for what he did,
for what he put me through.
 
I knew about the other girl,
it wasn't necessarily obvious
but if you're with someone long enough
you'll notice small changes: 
a pillow case that doesn't smell like it used to anymore,
some blonde hairs in his brush,
a new, unknown passcode on his phone. 
 
Could maybe be coincidences,
but come on, we all know better than that. 
Sometimes the truth just isn't convienent at the moment, 
sometimes living in denial is a way of survival,
sometimes you can choose when he gets to break your heart. 
 
So no, I don't hate him, 
maybe it'd be easier for me if I did
but either way - it wouldn't make a difference for him. 
 

054;


jag minns hennes kropp mot min på dansgolvet
genom blinkande ljussken och alkoholdimmig blick;
vi är ett med musiken
jag släpper den sista biten kontroll,
låter basslagen bli mina hjärtslag 
så nära så nära

hennes leende är svar på varenda fråga jag någonsin velat ställa

053;



kan höra mina egna hjärtslag,
känna hur det lilla hjärtat pulserar
(slå lilla hjärtat, slå)
stadigt, taktfast

det har alltid slagit långsamt;
långsammare än männens.
Ibland har jag tagit det som ett tecken,
(love me tender, love me softly)
men kanske är det bara i mitt eget huvud?

Kanske spelar det ingen roll.