Tag Archives: poetry

Summer evenings and writing

Posted on by under life

I should just write. Maybe the inspiration will flow from my brain like the ink from my pen and maybe the sound of violently pressing the keyboard will bring my heart to a path and back from the distracted zone of nowhere and everywhere. Maybe I should write because I actually do have things to write about, friends and laughter that have passed by, and imaginary people in faraway cultures whose adventures lies at my feet, waiting for my hands and letters. And maybe I should not write. Maybe I should never write again because I never write when I’m happy. Or maybe I should just learn to find another source to creativity, bright days and sunshine instead of bittersweetness and hearts teared apart. And maybe I should write because whatever the answer is, I know that the only way to find it is searching through my thoughts, and the only way to search through my thoughts is falling through them line for line, a never-ending flood of commas and vowels and me.

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Drunk on feelings

Posted on by under poetry

I’m a drug addict, but instead of atoms you’ll find feelings injected in my veins, and I crave them. Crave them when I feel way to empty, and the longing after them might paradoxically be the strongest of them. I want to define them, ground them, put them down on pages and scream them out in words. Paint my skin with their colour and patterns and let the water in the watercolour paintings of them run down the walls. I’ve never considered myself a happy person, because I have this. Because when I’m far away from God I’m drowning. My heart can find no peace and so I climb the walls and tear at my skin and curse the laziness that just makes me want to sleep when my brain is to high to find any rest. I used to think I was controlled by my thoughts because I’m always thinking too much, but what I’m thinking about is now and always depending on what I’m feeling, with no rationality or logic to remind me that sadness or joy is temporary. I’m an addict because my feelings control me way to much and I love them.

Ego

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I’m made of flaws, insecurities stitched together. I’m the most confident person in the world, yet people terrify me. I don’t trust them, I trust me, but I do not trust them to not judge me whenever I’m trying to make a joke or laugh too loud. It’s so beautiful being around people you love, and whom you know love you back. Still, I egoistically rejoice in the feeling of having people love you more than you love them. Simply because it’s an ego-boost. The problem of the world lies in us trying to fall in love with ourselves instead of simply being ourselves and falling in love with other people.

Artists dream

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I just want to create stuff and get enough sleep. I want the contrasts, the darkness of the world and the brightest soul humanly possible. I want the world and I want to get out of it, be more than it to be able to look down at what it really is. I want late swedish summer evenings, when the sun doesn’t set and I can sit next to my big window painting in the light from it. I want to travel the world and I do not want to own my own heart. I want to be no one and I want to be the person everyone dreams to become. Freedoms lies in the traces of my decisions, rests in the way my heart could never be locked in a city to long, and belongs in the wilderness of nature and the love that makes me run.

Procrastination and self doubt

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

I never quite realized the connection between those two, procrastination and self doubt. I guess it’s obvious though, self-doubt; as in believing (or not) that you can do it, and procrastination; as in doing it (or not). I suppose I’ve just always seen myself as so confident. In a way not, because I was always the shy little kid, but still, because I was the one who didn’t want to hang out with them, because whenever people didn’t like me, my unconscious though process went: Wow, what’s wrong with them? Always them, never me, and I’ve always thought that was the main difference between confident and non confident people. Either you think Wow what’s wrong with them, when they don’t like you, or you think Wow, what did I suddenly do right? when they do.

Childhood stories and my unsuccessful try at psychology aside, I’ve kind of realized that I’ve always thought of myself as the complete opposite to self doubting (okay, not really psychology aside). So to the point that even when I do doubt myself, I don’t realize it. I don’t realize that the reason behind sudden dips in my mood might be a sudden disbelief in myself. And now, looking back, I wonder how many times that’s happened without me even noticing it.

Now, though, it has showed up in my homework. My ability (well, disability) to get it done. The school I’m in now is so much tougher, the people I hang out spends about 37,8 % of their time worrying about their grades, and I think that’s getting to me. Me always agreeing that yeah, the tasks are impossible, when I used to honestly believe that I could be fine with studying to a test for about one hour. But you can’t just say that to people that it wouldn’t work for. And let’s not blame this only on that development, because I don’t know (and don’t want to know) where my grades would have ended up without those extra few hours of studying, but now I’m one of the people never doing things, until the point where I stop believing I can. Or maybe that’s the reason why I’m not doing it, I don’t even know.

I’ve postponed my essays because I don’t think I could write them if I tried, not because I think I don’t need to spend that much time on them. But I’ve noticed that the big, tremendous difference lies in how I look at the blinking cursor. And looking at it while thinking about how good I am at this, trying to scare my self doubt away to the dark corners of my brain, and then starving it back to death, is how I’ve written this post. So now I’m gonna go try it on some homework.

Never settle for less than the best

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

Several of my closest friends have done things similar to this, and I hate it. It annoys me to no end. They settle down with people they think they kinda like. Settle down might be a slight exaggeration, but they think that’s enough. It’s like an article I read recently, that told you to marry the equivalent of your best friend, not of the colleague you can have a beer with after work. They settle with people that aren’t the best. And this is nothing negative to their beloved ones, because this has got nothing to do with those, but is instead about the way they work together. They shouldn’t settle for someone they don’t feel enough for.

Writing

Posted on by under notes

I write because I’m terrified of forgetting. Because everything that happens to us – every experience, every emotion – and even things that don’t, things that just passes through our minds for mere moments, it will all sink into nothingness. Become a piece of the past, and the past itself is something that doesn’t exist. It did, but not anymore. And when I write, it’s like I chain those moments to reality. I think writers should be called heroes because they save.

At the moment

Posted on by under life

I do not precisely love the place I’m in right now and find myself elsewhere in my mind, not just up in the clouds with my dreams and ideas, but somewhere else as in I like the future better than I like now. It’s a trap, and I know that, because future is just another name for the now that is to come and by hiding further into the future I’ll never reach it, sometimes I just have to remind myself that there’s always a purpose for me being right where I am now, and perhaps tomorrow I’ll be somewhere else.

Words and dictatorship

Posted on by under Longer thoughts

Media is king and we’re its peasants, master the internet and you master the world. Since perhaps ten years back. The world is changing, and it’s no longer the authors that control it. And perhaps we’re free in a way, it’s no longer the few people rich enough to afford books that know things, but we all have information and news at our fingertips. I thought about my friend with dyslexia and how she finds so much joy in being able to master the internet with photos and paintings. She doesn’t need words to say how she feels. But then I thought about her difficulties in school. Or when it comes to reading music, it still affects her in a lot of areas in her life.

And I realized that we’ve only changed the way we use our words, not how much they own us. Today, every person with a blog is a writer and we share our lives and feelings on social media without pause, we just usually don’t care as much about how we say it and how we use our words as an art form to express ourselves. Instead they’re a necessary mean that is about what we say and do, instead of how we say it. The art of the written word has been pushed away into the dark corners of the internet. And the art of the spoken word is in many ways since long forgotten.

Or has it just moved into a quiet dictatorship? If you master your words well, and for that you can be a rapper as well as a poet, you can have the world under your feet without people even noticing that it’s you they’re listening to.

Even though the dusty old poetry books are a source of magic, the source of the art of every single written and spoken word, rests within all of us. Anyone who cares about getting their point across, or want to be able to tell a story in a way that will make people laugh, have their hope in mastering talking. Anyone who wants their essays to be the very best, who want to blog with a voice that people listens to, have their hope in mastering writing. And anyone who wants to be able to ask the right questions by sorting through the 90% bullshit in every conversation and get to the core of what actually matters, have their hope in understanding what words are, how we use them and how other people use them.

The word is dead when the world shuts up.

I forgot my heart

Posted on by under life

Sometimes I get so wrapped up in things I want to do and feel like doing and don’t feel like doing and kinda have to anyway, that I forget to stop thinking. I forget to feel life, and start to experience it simply with my mind. And then I’m suddenly shaken alive, God wakes my soul up, and so I go back to feeling. I feel everything and it’s like having an additional sense. Or bigger than that, like the way I normally go around, thinking about stuff and experiencing them with all my senses, is fine. But what a poor way to live. And when I go back to happiness that warms my heart and tears that wrecks it, it’s like all my senses had lost their meaning until now when my heart feels what it knows so it can believe it.