Turning.

the most beautiful.

as I step, from the grass

unto the weeds, though

not really, because I’m wearing

an ikea curtain as a protection

layer between me and the

stingy things- I walk on slowly

like walking in a sleeping bag

when camping and not wanting

to let go of that warmth.

walking with your bed-

like warm arms holding you

while every simple thing

feels extraordinary.

the why for the walking on

curtains trough stingy weeds-

to un-knot the garland tied to the

tree at a time when apparently,

there was space for me to put a ladder

without getting stung.

this moment and writing about it

now- the magic of that

the world keeps turning,

and that there are incredibly

beautiful things to find-

unwrap- unravel, and transform.

record.

 

 

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Really something

‘This ugly mess’..

It’s been quite some time since I wrote a longer non-fiction piece-  I have had to write so many things for studies that making actual sentences for fun doesn’t sound that fun. I just came home ‘in the middle of the night’ and finally got to talk to one of my friends on the other side of the world- time differences make things more complicated. I was talking to her and I have somehow reminded of this song: ‘Really something’ from Aaron Sprinkle. It was actually the first Aaron Sprinkle song I ever listened to- it was on a cd with a mix of music that my brother had. Sometimes you have that- love at first song- I loved the song so much that I ordered the cd that it was from at a shop (not webshop-it was thát time). ‘Lackluster’ is still one of my absolute favorite albums.

I made home. 🙂

The part of the song that I remembered was ‘being hard is hard so sick of it’. Hmm. The funny thing is that I just was going home with the idea  ‘am I a horrible person?’- I thought of the times that I wasn’t really interested in talking to other people. I am never really proud of that- but I then set boundaries which is good. For me, that’s what ‘being hard’ is, hard on others. But perhaps also hard on yourself. I’ve been reasonably kind to myself these days, and that feels quite good :). The reason why i’m writing this now is that I heard a line in the song that i’ve heard before, (i’ve listenend to the song a million times) but didn’t really think of: ‘process, this ugly mess, and figure out how to make it home‘. I’m now finishing up my studies and there is so much that I can beat myself up about- that perhaps I should have done way more- that I’m in a mess of my own making. and yet- I’ve come a long way. Some days I actually forget, that this is really something, really something good. 

 

Almost there

One more step,

and then one more.

The wall – falling apart

And then?

Forward again

patiently waiting for things

to grow and disappear

like friendship and sunburn

long summer nights

growing shorter everyday now

Breaks that take longer than

they need to-

writing poetry while

sitting on the toilet-

breaking away from a

deadline dooming.

 

Wandering

My mind slowly seems

to mingle everything from

today to last week, to last month

a year and years ago. As if

all I ever did, saw, felt, said

has to be reviewed now,

just when I’m laying in bed

waiting for sleep to come

and take me on to a new day.

 

It seems difficult these days

to concentrate- to know the

facts is one thing, but to act

on them… And while I feel trapped

one way or another in my

head – it feels that perhaps, if

I’d give this wandering mind

a walk around the park, then

perhaps, It tires itself out-

And will let me sleep.

 

And so I take it- to a place

It has seen before, but that

allows for new things. Words.

Perhaps writing a poem about

how it feels to be awake now,

won’t help. But at least I have

something to show for all the

digging around and strolling

through memories I did.

 

This wandering mind longs to

travel, but for now, a walk in the

park, should be enough.

To just sit here and let it all be.

pursuing

‘What is this?’ She asked, never seen origami before.

After telling how much her scars

defined how she neatly measured

her strenght so use it where she could

having the problem of speaking out

and speaking up before people might

even know who she was. And then.

in the end the question what have you

learned of life-

Innocence is worth pursuing.

 

And perhaps i don’t rightly express it

as she did there but since I just got

trapped in a conversation that seemed

to lack the innocence that says

‘this is wrong’ ‘we can do better’

‘we don’t have to protect the plenty that

we have cause with sharing you never lose’

 

It makes me feeling trapped- but then again

I’m reminded. Innocence is worth pursuing.

Lists

I used to make lists-

What I want- I would write

on top. and then anything like

learn a certain skill, buy

something I’d seen, something

I admired. I think ‘a boyfriend’

even at some point got onto there

List of things little moments to

sit and dream. Smal things,

but also bigger things. Get a

degree or something like that.

 

Thinking of the lists I’m sitting

no again here and think that

perhaps it was never really about

the big things. Never really put

too much on lists like marry by

21 or kids by 23, missed both

by any means. And yet. It’s

funny right. These lists- for me,

these lists were never a kind of

‘five-year plan’ sure, I scratched

a ton of these things off, but I

haven’t been keeping track.

they were never plans. just a step

back to see at that point in time

what kind of strange funny and

spontaneous desires had find

themselves into my heart.

 

Perhaps, now I once again am

on some kind of crossroad-

I should try to look back on

what I wanted back then, because

I can already feel the freedom

play some gentle music in the

background. Music that underscores

the beautiful process of making

small dreams coming true.

long nights

To take a walk, trough the trees,

to the water, to hear the sound

of the waves against the line

of land, and the beat of the

party nearby. I remember the

last time I was there, months

ago. So near and yet I didn’t

go there for months- and yet,

sitting there reading my book,

being here with someone else

for the first time. It feels not

like home. Like free, like hope

like hidden in the trees and yet

the open water in front of me.

I can stay here as long as I want,

safely.

project

Whatever it is.

Lately, there has been, advertisement

saying something like: if you don’t go

to the hardware store for your project

it’s not a project at all, and so I took it

to understand better what it means to

not be codependent- You don’t buy people

in hardware stores, so they are not projects

they cannot be- they are simply people

that’s it.

 

And I’m slowly trying to put myself back

together, I’m not a project either so rather

then rearranging I’m trying understanding

understanding better who I am, and how

I love and how sometimes even though it

doesn’t feel like it, it has been it is enough

 

and last night a guy told a story and made

music and ended up saying something like:

pain is more than the pain, it is a force but you

can only use it for good, for creation for

beauty if you are no longer ashamed of it

 

And so in the wake of this and fact that

I need to re-route the stories in my head

and how my friend put it: Teach me the

strength to face the people I cannot change

the wisdom to change the ones I can,

and the wisdom to know it’s me.

 

Making angels

And as we recount

how much we enjoyed

simply making something

we wondered out loud: why?

don’t we do more of what

we love.

Little etched angel

Hope

Hopelessness is that there always more dishes to do. Hope is that we have a lot of plates.