Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Clindballe Aug 2019
Eternity is every mans ambitious endeavor with woman of mine and child in hand. This utopia which emerges from love and greediness is my life’s paradox. My most eager wish of eternal life is bypassed by my sensitive tear canals my over sensitivity for life in this world which the universe has created for me. Ungrateful for this nonpareil chance, a life as an intellectualistic individual in a cosmos with 7.5 billion other intellectual fellow creatures. Despite it all my mind still desires to let life be and let go of the dream.
Written: 29. December - 2018

Dansk version:
Fra vugge til grav

Evighed er en hver mands ambitiøse bestræbelse, med kvinde min og barn i hånd. Denne utopi som opstår af kærlighed og grådighed er mit livs paradoks. Mit mest ivrige ønske om evigt liv kortsluttes af mine følsomme tårekanaler, min overfølsomhed for livet i den verden, som universet har skabt for mig. Utaknemlig for en enestående chance, et liv som et intellektualistisk individ i et kosmos med 7,5 milliarder andre intellektuelle medskabninger. Trods min længselsfuldhed begærer mit sind en hvis trang til at lade livet ligge og slippe drømmen.
Clindballe Aug 2019
Depression always sits on the edge of the bridge that I call my brain ready to throw us both into the deep water where we drown together like a twisted one-man Romeo and Juliet act. Sometimes I let my sick thoughts take control they always wanted what’s best for me like when the self destructive thoughts tried to convince me that it was seppuku and not suicide even though the only deference is the level of holiness. No one should open Pandora’s box and get to know all its secrets. I would rather die than keep on living knowing that people worried about me but my anxiety for death saved me. My biggest inner-conflict is between my depression and anxiety, one tries more eagerly than the other to take control while I walk the bridge of memories and trauma - a alternative history lesson that always begins with once upon a time and ends with a to be continued that might never continue.
Written: November 25 - 2017

Danish version:
Depressionen sidder altid på kanten af den bro, jeg kalder min hjerne, klar til at kaste os begge i det dybe vand, hvor vi drukner sammen som en forskruet form for en-mands Romeo og Julie akt. Nogle gange lader jeg mine syge tanker tage kontrollen, de har altid villet mig det bedste, som da de selvdestruktive tanker var ved at overbevise mig om at det var seppuku og ikke selvmord, selvom forskellen blot er helligdom. Ingen skulle åbne pandoraæske og kende til dens hemmeligheder, så hellere dø end leve videre med tanken om at folk bekymrede sig. Men angsten for døden reddede mig. Mit største indre-dilemma er mellem depression og angst, den ene forsøger mere ivrigt end den anden at tage kontrollen, mens jeg går over broen af minder og traumer, en alternativ historietime, som altid starter med der var engang og slutter med en fortsættelse som aldrig vides sikker
Clindballe Oct 2017
I have had countless nightmares that you would leave me. That you would find someone else and I would have broken your lungs forever. Your words took over. My promises and premises became overwhelmed by you and your needs. It was not a relationship, but I was a God-given person, and you were God. You are as manipulative as the Bible, as beautiful as the devil, and only those who no longer believe will understand that your empty words are just words. I gave your words, your promises, your commandments life! If it were not for me, faith in love would not exist and you would not be part of my life. Even though you're out of my life, you're still part of it. You can not be atheist without giving a love faith broken heart young thought to me who burned the Bible, me who left the church. My nightmares have disappeared and so have you

Most importantly, my lungs are intact, and I can thank myself for that - I can breathe, I am free!
Written: October 26. - 2017

Orignal:
Du er ikke Gud!

Jeg har haft utallige mareridt om at du ville forlade mig, om at du fandt en anden og jeg ville have knuste lunger for evigt. Dine ord overtog mine. Mine præmisser og løfter blev overtrumfet af dig og dine behov. Det var ikke et parforhold, men jeg var en gudsbenådet person, og du var Gud. Du er lige så manipulerende som biblen og smuk som djævlen, og kun dem som ikke længere tror, forstår, at dine tomme ord, blot er ord. Jeg gav dine ord, dine løfter, dine befalinger liv! Hvis ikke det var for mig, ville troen på kærlighed ikke eksistere og du ville ikke være en del af mit liv. Og selvom du er ude af mit liv, er du stadig en del af det. Man kan ikke være ateist uden at have skænket religion en tanke og mine tanker var infiltrerede af dine ord. I sidste ende var det mig der brændte biblen, mig der forlod kirken. Mine mareridt er forsvundet og dig med.
Vigtigst af alt, mine lungerne er intakte, takket være mig selv - jeg kan trække vejret, jeg er fri.
Clindballe Apr 2017
You used to tell me that I was the prettiest thing you'd ever seen. Yet you said my sister was prettier than me. You have always told me opposite of Her and everyone else but I still listen to Her, I still tell myself that I am not worthy of love and beautiful words. I try to be what you tell me you see by removing unwanted hair and painting my nails to feel less like Mona Lisa - a stiff painting of a mystery. How can I be the prettiest thing you have seen when you have seen so many other people and probably told them the same. I bet you that they did not have these self inflicted scars and colored stretch marks, even the little red dots that sit on my skin between all the bruises. I believed Her words of filth and hate - I still do. Her voice still lingers in the back of my mind and her words are carved in my thoughts like a tattoo. When you tell me I am the prettiest thing you have ever seen please mean it or just leave it because i don't need your lies when you cannot tell Her off. Please I know I'm not the prettiest thing you have ever seen so do not tell me beautiful lies.
Written: April 15. - 2017
Clindballe Feb 2017
A wave of people who all suffer from depression's undercurrent leans over me until gravity pushes the water over my head and I drown in the depressive maelstrom of lost, distraught family members with the same weak psyche which I suffer from. Only the dollhouse owners can live a picture-perfect life where everything is antibacterial and anti-depressant while we get jammed between the walls until we can no longer scream for help and tears become our only weapon. The moisture from the rivers that sourced in our eyes penetrates into the walls and seeps into the floor, then mold and mildew infects this otherwise perfect dollhouse. I'd rather drown in depression than live in this false cardboard house with drawers and cabins filled with pills and where no one knows who takes what and why there is constantly bought more and more even when the pills tumble out of all the doors. I'm waiting for a tsunami, which can split the dollhouse that I call my home, hoping the walls detaches and the pills flush away.
Written: november 30. - 2016
Clindballe Feb 2017
My mother works as florist, she cuts and arranges flowers in order to make it pretty. Even though my mother works at home she never has time to sit down. She is always in a hurry and never has time to worry. My mother has a mentally sick family, it runs in the blood but skipped her generation and found its way to her children's brains. The sickness came as a lightning from a thunderstorm - totally expected. Yet, my mother never saw it coming because she never had time to sit down and listen to the thunder roaring, she just turn up the volume on the radio, which only played happy songs about love and flowers. Inside the house the flowers wither from all the depressed children compressing the air till there is nothing left. Everyone sits at the dinner table gasping for air while fighting for the attention of an uncaring florist. She never sees the pain in her children's eyes or how their always wear long sleeves even when the flowers are blooming outside. My mothers children never felt pretty nor good enough so they started cutting their own skin.
Written: February 9. - 2017
Clindballe Dec 2016
I am daydreaming about making a difference in this corrupt, broken world but all I can do is to solve tasks that have already been answered. Second after second, year after year, I sit behind bricks in a ramshackle school where everyone are as prisoners in an alternative prison, where the years disappear in meaninglessness. Let me knock down walls and build them again, help the world instead of sitting as a product on a conveyor belt in the middle of a mass production of individuals that have solved the same tasks with the same answers, behind the same wall, at the same table, just to be able to put a way too expensive student cap on ones head and to call oneself a student. But what does it actually mean to be a student? Are you not just another number in the row, yet a grade point average, another helpless individual who can only solve problems where the answer already exists in a rule book. Let me knock down the world and build a new one, where mass production of students does not take place, but where anyone can build a future of new ideas and not only find errors on the old. But before I'm done daydreaming, tens of thousands of old assignments end op on the table, and I must sit on the chair a little longer as the conveyor belt keeps on going.
Written 30. October - 2016

Dansk version:

Jeg sidder og dagdrømmer om at gøre en forskel i denne korrupte, ødelagte verden men alt jeg kan gøre at løse opgaver som allerede er besvaret. Sekund efter sekund, år efter år sidder jeg bag mursten i en faldefærdig skole hvor alle er som fanger i et alternativt fængsel, hvor årene forsvinder i meningsløsheden. Lad mig vælte væggene og bygge dem om, hjælpe verden i stedet for at sidde som et produkt på et rullebånd midt i en masseproduktion af individer som har løst de samme opgaver med de samme svar bag den samme væg ved det samme bord på den samme stol, blot for at kunne sætte en alt for dyr hue på hovedet og kalde sig student. Men hvad betyder det egentligt at være student? Er man ikke bare endnu et tal rækken, endnu et karaktergennemsnit, endnu et hjælpeløst individ som kun kan løse opgaver hvor svaret allerede findes i en facitliste. Lad mig vælte verden og bygge en ny, hvor masseproduktion af stundenter ikke finder sted, men hvor alle kan bygge en fremtid af nye ideer, og ikke blot finde fejl på de gamle. Men inden jeg er færdig med at dagdrømme ender der titusinde gamle opgaver på bordet, og jeg må blive siddende i stolen lidt længere mens rullebåndet kører videre.
Next page