Tag Archives: love

Please turn away

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Yours words take you so near

You see me

I turn rigid with fear

 

I’m so easy to leave

making you laugh

Inside of me, confusion and tears

 

Don’t look don’t see

Please turn away

From the real me

I know you will, eventually

 

I can only keep it up for so long

The loveable façade

So hard to be nice

So hard to make you stay

Please go now

while I can still pay the price

 

Showing my open face

look at me

Why the hell would anyone want to see

Such a statue of control

won’t show the shame

Do you, does anyone

know my name

 

Your lovely face is open to me

You see

I turn rigid with fear

Why would anyone choose me

Such a fool, such a silly little girl

 

Please turn away

From the real me

I know you will, eventually

 

freedom faith music love

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Rhythm slow like lovemaking

Driving again, the light piercing my eyes always now, I’m protecting my brain behind sunglasses. Can hardly look at anything, need darkness to have a moment of peace.

Sucking in every hour of comfort whenever the pain eases up; meanwhile training myself to focus my eyes far away, thus resting my wired, overworked, screaming brain. Pulling myself up, out, walking, soothing landscapes rescuing me, slow moving rhythm of my feet balancing my screwed-up nervous system. Giving in when I must, hours disappearing in fetal position.

Still, even this far down the road, there is sometimes music. This time, my newly found favorite song, and as usual, I’m obsessed. Sets me free for moments. Music cutting behind words, behind reason, straight into the wordless insides of me. The force of his voice and its emotions, the darkness and beauty of the words, the rhythm is pulling on me like tide….. Slow like lovemaking.

«…all the things she grants me
Freedom is not among those things
And freedom is by no means free..»

This is what I want. Freedom. But, oh, it is by no means free.

I want all the history that mars my body to be erased. I want to know who I am again. I want to be able to stay in myself without fear of the next pain, the endless cycles emptying me, over and over. Who would ever recognize what this is like for me? I can hardly grasp it myself.

* to mar:

1. To inflict damage, especially disfiguring damage, on.

2. To impair the soundness, perfection, or integrity of; spoil.

 That’s it: it has impaired the integrity of me; so that I don’t, any longer, know exactly who I am. My images of me, the stories of who I am, no longer really believable, when no one is a witness. Do you, does anyone, know my name?

Nights; awoken by aching, I twist, sweating and cold, in the covers.

«..the night pulled tight around me…»

Sobering to observe how coolly I now evaluate my symptoms at four in the morning, how without emotion I tell myself not to be afraid, because fear won’t help me, it is a luxury I can’t afford any more  (it shreds me to shaking, to panic). I tell myself that I will have to sleep now, and if the pain gets so bad I need hospital again, I will wake up. The phone is next to me, so now, sleep. Repeating like a mantra, «you’ll be okay. Believe it.»

How I, bleakly, on countless nights and days try to evaluate the strength, position, temporal development of my own symptoms, before administering (with a shudder of disgust) the drug of choice. Always, now, in a haze.

I am falling so deeply, so hard, where is the rock bottom which will catch me, stop me, crush me or bounce me back flying? The rock bottom; faith.

Trying to find faith. How do humans manage to believe?

Never religious, this is something I know nothing of, and yet, it is what it is now reduced to, as the only road to travel. They tell me; believe in the healing power of your body and mind, believe in the drugs, believe that there is a future. How? My immeasurable strength now diluted to homeopathic concentrations.

Can anyone tell me how to remember to keep the faith,  throughout the day: at 12 o’clock, shopping for groceries, when in the shower, paying the bills, when you’ve been turned down, you’re alone, or too much surrounded by others? At three in the morning, sleep evasive.

«…freedom is impossible, this I know

I can’t find it in no bedroom

Or wherever it is

I run and hide

No, I never did find it

By any one’s side…»

But…. I do find a measure of freedom in company, in belonging to someone and something, in giving myself over to what I love (dancing, the slow hip circle. Singing, when coming in on cue almost too late, the tardy rhythm so organic, bodily). Struggling so hard to believe, to have faith, is this where I will manage it? Moment by moment, refusing to feel the fear. Allowing only joy. Pleasure sweet like honey. Love, body, tears, friendship. I write lists of names: these people are my friends. I hold onto the slip of paper. Please speak my name.

Freedom; impossible. Still. But not always.

Faith; necessary.

(lyrics are quoted from Madrugada’s brilliant song, Sail away).

Fortsett å svømme

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Strendene i Danmark er lange nok. Man kan la føttene finne sin egen rytme, gå og gå. Oppdage hvor mye bølger egentlig bråker; lyden er voldsom, rasende, rensende. Overdøver støyen i hodet.

Horisonten er ren, brytes kun få steder av lavt land. Øynene kan fokusere langt vekk og langt innover.

Står på en brygge som går veldig langt ut, midt på den øde lange stranda (hvorfor en brygge her?), så man kan stå høyt over de svimle dønningene. Grønt, sugende, virvlende vann som kverner og kverner, det vil de gjøre også lenge etter at jeg blir borte med mine lengsler, min smerte. Trøst.

Minner om alle mine strender; barndommens marehalm, nyperoser og hvite sand i Danmark. Fra året vi levde i Afrika, drepende brenning og sugende understrøm, brennhett sand under mine bare føtter, plutselige sandstormer som blindet og sved.

Ungdomstid, overnattet på stranda med tre venner. Bål, prat, soveposer, en kasse øl båret helt fra bussholdeplassen. På natta svømte min soulmatevenninne og jeg i det svarte vannet, det lyste og glitret rundt oss. Jeg husker følelsen av å strekke hendene frem i det myke, mørke vannet, og se glødende lys når jeg skjøv vannet til side, lys som gled langs med meg. Morild?

Nå; de varme feriedagene ved Atlanterens uendelighet med mine nærmeste; kjæreste, barn og vennefamilien. Ro, hvile, is, mamma-het, kjærestekos, venneprat. Slitenhet. Omsorg. Kompromisser. Latter!

Husker den første turen, oss alene, vi var utmattede småbarnsforeldre til et kronisk sykt barn, med meg selv også evig syk siden graviditeten;  et absurd helvete, oss to omgjort til en overlevelsesforestilling i flere år. En ettermiddag på stranden klarte den bekkenløse kroppen å finne hvile på kjærestens geniale gave, flytemadrassen. Rød. Med boblemønster. Jeg våknet litt senere fra drømmeløs, dyp søvn (for en nytelse, mmmmmmm!) og så rett på en liten firfisle som sov på innsiden av min henslengte overarm. Glemmer aldri den lille skapningen som lå der og pustet, på min varme hud, i ettermiddagslys og bølgelyd. For et møte. Selv om man reiser til charter»paradiset» fins det så veldig mange flere opplevelser og inntrykk enn norske kjøttkaker og jevn fyll….  Elsker naturen der, fjellene og lyset over vannet, kilingen i magen ved synet av havseilerene i havna- her er det laaaangt over til land på andre siden!

Nå; trøsten  ved Oslofjorden, timer sittende i sanda med blikket hvilende på fugler, båter, skiftene i lyset. Endelig et sted hvor ingen ser tårene, en pause hvor tankene kan roe ned sin skrudde rundtur, tærne kan kjenne sanda. Hånda rundt en varm kopp fra termosen. Og en tur ut i det kjølige vannet; stå helt stille og la krabbene vandre over føttene, la småbølgene vugge kroppen sakte mot helbredelse.

Hav. Cellene mine kjenner seg i igjen tror jeg, i ur-elementet de en gang kom opp fra. Saltet, rytmen, uendeligheten. Fortsatt, et mini-hav i hver celle? En bølgende rytme i kroppens egen visdom, dens styring av hver mirakuløse prosess som er liv.

Helbredelse fra nåets absurde tilstand må være overgivelse, tillit til miraklene og til kroppens egen skrøpelige styrke, på samme måte som jeg legger på svøm i tillit til vannet.

Som når jeg flyter på ryggen i det, avslappet, og det slutter tett rundt meg, rundt ører, armer, kropp, og alt jeg sanser er synet av himmelen over meg.

Jeg får overta mantraet til den glemske fisken i Nemo-filmen: «fortsett å svømme, fortsett å svømme….»

Things I’ve lost

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Memory stick (pink)
Note book (purple)
Favourite cardigan (black)

Quite a few illusions (?)
The rock solid self-assurance I had for about five minutes around the age of 18 (?)
The extra car key (black)
The golden power of my limbs at age five (golden)

The skill of hanging upside down from a tree branch (definitely golden)
Several umbrellas (mostly black?)
My sleek, firm 16-year-old skin (freckled)
My need to be right always (ugly)

Gloves; my own, my baby sons (multicolored)
Some friends (were they?)
Boyfriends; my desire overwhelming, theirs negligible? I don’t know.
The blue angora jumper I once thought held the key to someone discovering that I, too, am indeed desirable (discovering the fascinating inner self which I find it hard to trust, myself)
My wimp-ness to pain: I swallow it up in large quantities. Puncture my breasts, pull my pelvis apart, step on my head.
Two beloved cats. When moving, alone, with my divorcee father, they disappeared. Couldn’t cope with a new, strange neighborhood, an unfamiliar, always scary, house. (Who could?)
My power over what was done to me.
Myself. In glimpses.

It is late.
But too late to find again some parts that were mine;
No.

Cut

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How deftly we cut

Ourselves

And each other

Slicing in one stroke

Meaning and sanity into pieces.

Unaware of what we do until we see blood

 

The magnitude of the betrayal

The intricate ways we hurt ourselves

hurt each other

 

The only remedy

to soften it

 

Remember.

Collect all the moments of beauty

keep them as your defense

against the dark pitfalls in my soul.


Graffiti

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I wrote this poem over a year ago, and I am still very fond of it, without knowing exactly why. I’ve known a lot of physical pain, and pain seems to be part of my life for the long haul, something I’m trying to get to grips with. I’ve  also known so much kindness, and I hope I give some of that back, to people I know and those I don’t know. More and more, I realise the impact meeting someone can have, even for a short time, as long as the connection is real. A conversation, a hug, a friendship, fun and laughter. Love.

 

Graffiti

 

Sometimes I think I can see

The footprints of pain that was here

Traces on my body from enduring

For a long time, that was all there was

Cells, vessels and curves imprinted

 

What  does pain look like

fire, ice, knives

I know its sound, I think

Cackling and howling

I hear it whispering when it’s tracking me down

 

Free me

Please just free me

From the pain graffiti

 

Does the body know now

How to let it go?

Its memoirs so harshly printed

Every letter hammered in place

Graffiti on my bones

How can I trust the body that is me

 

Free me

Please just free me

From the pain graffiti

 

Does love, does kindness

Leave traces too

I want prints of your hands to stay

Fluorescent waves, firework tracks

My body will glow in the dark

 

Your eyes as they watch me sometimes

In a glimpse knowing me,

A piece of my core understood

Your gaze leaves forever marks

Lovely wing marks fluttering over my cheeks, hips, hands

Love graffiti

 

Free me

Please just free me

With your love graffiti