My language

I used to write in swedish but it feels untrue to me now. I don't experience my life in swedish anymore. It's hard to re learn to express myself in the same form in a different language. I feel like I'm missing nuances, loosing flow,  searching too long for the right word. I was never really bothered by being grammatically correct in swedish. It was about the artistic expression and I rather create language than following old rules. But to be able to bend the rules gracefully you need to know them well. In English I'm not quite there. Maybe not at all.
When it comes down to it though, I rather write in my most honest language to get a more sincere connection to whomever might be interested in reading. If it's broken words at least it's my broken words. They tell more of a story than any correctness could.

So if you read this blog, I apologize for butchering this language.

Until we feel what we know, live what we feel.

Where there was something missing
your presence nestled in
Such distraction;
a break in our affliction.

In a fluent kind of way
the curiosity was pulling me.
We all know what happened to the cat
but caution had grown exhausted that day and weeks to come.
Resistance shaved away by persistence
I have a heart of stone but the waves kept rolling in.
Opening my eyes to what I didn't see
You said you could read my feelings in them.
It was surely your own projection. Eyes are mirrors
and you admired your reflection.

You took some of what I didn't know I had to give.
Now the seal is broken and I'm flowing, overflowing ,
like crying in self pity over crying
or laughing because laughing feels so good

And closeness was like laughing.
Building habit, causing need.
When the monster in my dream was in the shape of you
what woke me up was your arms gentle embrace.

Your fears and my pride met in the darkness of an alley
with gushing blood and tender bruises they opted out of shaking hands.
But when we closed our eyes and no broken words were spoken the calmness gave us reason.
A soothing comfort for the damaged warriors inside us.

No matter how I try I can not seem to find a place in your soul where i want to nest. Yet here I am still searching as you already are walking away. Just to come back, you seem to forget to detach your strings.

While you are growing tired  I'm being lit by my own fire.
A lashing anger is raging inside me.
How did you touch my passion?
It wasn't meant for you.

There is lava on the floor
I can not be put down, I want to jump from stone to stone until I reach my home.

Words...

The little winding rode of words is tempting me down the path of creation. It's not real and it doesn't exist but it's worth more than anything I've ever touched. As easily as it is to dream as uncomplicated is it to deny it, disregard the thought and idea was ever there. This seldom world in my mind is sacred and holy but nothing to rely on. No prayers or wishes can seek comfort but it does create them. The solitude of imagination is only limiting itself as it continues trekking on, past me.

Domesnight

Last nights domesday picture. 

Conflicted