spilled ink

Varje dikt ska vara sönderrivandet av en dikt. Icke längre dikt utan klomärken.

[inkandchalk]

shipwreck

I wake up and my dreams shatter all around me Waking up I have to wade through the wreckage of what the night brought Careful not to cut myself Not to bleed on the shards and give them more power over me More life

Lately my days are spent in the shattered remains of dreams My nightly escapes (the irony being that I can’t escape them even when I’m awake)

It gets hard to find things in my head now Space all muddled up Everywhere I look old dreams and nightmares balance haphazardly on to of memories Memories so grimy from the company they keep that they’re almost like a dream Dreams, bright and new, like memories in comparison

Only because it’s all muddled together the shards cut deeper (there is no room to judge distance anymore) But the cuts make it all clear and blood is so very red my love It’s like a lightning flash Bright light and I can see my mind clearly

And I know it’s not real And I know it’s all in my head And I know that’s what makes it real

[inkandchalk]

to the girl who called me pretty

i am thousands of miles away by now i don’t know if you ever think about me (i hope you do) i am thousands of miles away sitting naked on my balcony trying to write something that will actually communicate what i want to say

i don’t know your name i don’t know where you’re from i do know that no one has ever made me feel so seen as you did that night

you will probably never see this and if you do maybe you won’t think it’s about you

but it is. about you

to the girl who called me pretty more than the words i will treasure your eyes your arms the shape of your mouth when you saw how much it meant to me the way your face furrowed when i tried to minimize what you had said the way you made sure that i heard you

to the girl who called me pretty thank you

[inkandchalk]

i wanted to write my words on paper but then i remembered that words come out crooked and wrong (not the way they are in my head never the way they are in my head) i wanted to fill page after page with words a steady stream of squiggly symbols blurring into meaningless clarity rising to a wave blocking out my mind.

i feel there might be a misunderstanding here.

they are eating me from the inside

burrowing tunnels in my flesh leaving me hollow and brittle sculpting hopelessness from my bones

maybe if i put them on paper they will find a different home one that is not made up of broken promises and bad excuses

[inkandchalk]

i know sadness. i know her wings wrapping themselves around me i know her hook embedded deep in my heart all the little twists and yanks my life makes of her

i know the way she lets me walk around like she’s not even there as if she’s not a shadow over me a constant presence in my world a cold spreading through my body claiming me owning me

i know sadness

i want to know anger.

i want to feel them rising up in me filling me owning me as if i owned myself as if others didn’t

feel their tendrils reaching through me bidding me to war to speak to feel anything but this numbness that sadness brings

anything but her hook her claws her hate

i don’t want to hate as sadness hates i want to hate with anger

as if i mattered.

[inkandchalk]

and you think that you are simple but the flesh of your body does nothing to contain you you are rain and lightning earthquakes and volcanoes erupting in fiery smoke you are terrible and wonderful aweful and i tremble at your feet

[inkandchalk]

for my restless hands:

used weary hurt and bleeding but not broken never broken working worrying typing lined and veined and hard and fragile strong

you could map my life in my hands the way they crack the scars the bitten nails and torn skin the way they shape themselves perfectly around themselves in prayer or in your hand

[inkandchalk]

det finns något vackert i det här

(bara för att det är fult betyder inte att det inte är vackert)

jag är 26 år gammal

jag sitter på golvet

min kropp har inte slutat darra efter gråten

en mening ekar i mitt huvud

mina händer rör sig snabbt och vasst över mina ben

jag är 26 år gammal

min kropp har inte glömt barnet det var

min kropp har inte glömt

även om cellerna har bytts ut

(framför allt när jag har rivit och slitit i den så)

har den inte glömt

inte erkännt

inte accepterat

sig själv

vad som gjorts

det finns något vackert i det här

jag är vacker i det här

inte för att min ångest är vacker

inte för att skönhet är det enda som räddar

inte för att jag blir vacker av att lida

som om sorgen skulle skulptera skönhet ur mitt skelett

det finns något vackert i det här för att det är på riktigt

för att jag är på riktigt

för att även om jag inte hittat alla mina delar så är jag hel

jag finns

[inkandchalk]

i am breaking my bones

come i’ll tell you a secret:

my bones never set they way they were supposed to

they never went back(?) to their strong lines and hard heart

they healed brittle and sore

jagged and crooked and wrong

breaking them hurts

breaking me hurts

[inkandchalk]

Ensamhet är tunga snabba andetag utan att veta när dom tar slut Ensamhet är att göra en ritual av att fylla på vinglaset (koppen) Ensamhet är att vakna och tvinga sig själv att somna om igen Ensamhet är uttjatat Tröttsamt Evigt