sitting here -

I’m sitting here
                                    with you
mum is a candle amongst the dead
your daughter is all pain now
the high ceiling makes me calm
i don’t know what to think of God

your prayer is habit
i’m still learning how to walk
sitting here with you not knowing how to

your hands are beautiful
your eyes just lost a daughter
you show me your scars
you filled them with gold
80 years old and now new ones
you’re going to be buried with

— children and parents, let’s grief.

you take my hand

- sitting here  -

I’m sitting here
                                 beside you
you're a candle amongst the dead
your body for the first time freed
the high ceiling makes me calm
you believed - we all had God

my prayer is getting better
still a long way to go
sitting beside you not knowing how to show

show them your hands
show them the way you prayed
show them your scars
and the years in between
the bravery they buried you with

— children and parents, let’s grief

I’ll stay

Queer is asking broken systems if everyone gets to breath again - now -
Queer is a broken system
Queer is every colour you ever seen and every sound you ever heard
Queer is movement moving like a river - calm
Queer is movement moving like a river - violent
Queer is home, un umbrella to make a home for many and few and everyone and no one
Queer is thoughts and bodies and *** and hands and hearts
Queer is the way I walk and sleep and love and work and write
Queer is my nose touching your nose
Queer is the kiss you give me on my forehead
Queer is the fear and the truth and the fear of truth
Queer is more true then all the other ****
Queer is Crip and Femme and the Working class
Queer has many friends, queer loves and inspires and takes care of its friends
Queer becomes its friends. Invisible, beautiful and broken
Queer is pride for broken backs
Queer is when the broken they see is what makes you whole
Queer is queer is queer.

my angel

         my angel

         my angel

           my angel
             my angel


                 my angel

                       my angel
      
       my                                  fly

she thought of going home.

It wasn’t a very hard task to go home, she thought.
She kind of was already home, she thought.
She was on top of the roof of her home, she thought.
She sat inte the sofa and she thought; take your clothes on, take your bag, take your keys, where were the keys?
The phone rang, she thought.
She took her keys, she threw them on the floor. Wrong order, she thought.
She took her clothes up from the floor, she put them on, success, first task done, she thought.  
She sat on the topp of the roof like on the prow of a ship, a woman on the street screamed up at her, she screamed up at her, she went down, she thought.
Not falling, she just took the stairs, so it was fine, she thought.  
The home was covered in dust, she was covered in dust, she tried to clean it of but the water was covered in dust. She wanted to float over the floor as if on one of those stupid hover-boards in the perfect middle of the room, there in the middle there were no dust, she thought.

She lost her hand, it was her left hand, she was left handed, she found her keys, they were on the floor. She took a pen with the hand she had left and wrote, to- do underlined it and continued; walk to bag, take bag, open door and go down all the stairs, go home, she thought.
She sat up and she stood up, she found her hand, it was on the roof, the wind stole it, now she had two hands, she thought.  
She walked to her bag, she took her bag and realized she had forgotten to write go to door, how can you open door if you’re aren’t by the door? She laid down, fell asleep on the hallway floor, in her dream she just walked out, down the stairs,  said hello to the nice old man sitting in the beach-chair outside and then she just took the train home, or you know, where she lived  now. She once had happened to call it her home when talking to her dad on the phone and he got so happy she could hear him crying on the other-side of the line so now she calls the new place where she lives her home. It isn’t though, she thought.

She woke up, she stood in the shower she screamed she tried to rip her heart out, she had to rip herself out of this apartment. She went out on the balcony, she slept on the balcony, she screamed on the balcony, she thought
on the balcony.

Thought about what happens when your brain drops
when the grief becomes to heavy and the brain can’t say stop.
Can’t say no, sorry. can we delay this very important grief-meeting, what about next week ?

She stood up, she thought.
She looked down the balcony, she saw people, people going to their jobs, taking their children to school, people jogging maybe for the first time ever or training for their fifteenth marathon. She thought.
She saw her old neighbor sitting in his chair outside. She thought.

She saw the sun come up, because it happens, she knew.

falling                                                          ­                                              

closer

closer

closer
closer

closer
closer
closer
closer                                                           ­                              .
      closer
           closer
               c                                                             bird
                   lose                                        a
                                 r                      like
                                         and  fly
__________________

Hej jag heter Kalle, jag är 17 vårar

och
jag är trött på att tårar faller ner från min kind.
Det hände senast i torsdags morgon i klassrummet när nina skapat ett
instagram konto
som hette kalle balle kalle balle är ful.

Jag tyckte det var töntigt för vi är sjutton år,
men alla andra skrattade så vad ska man göra då ?
Läraren sa inget fast han allting såg
han bara twittra på om något som jag ej kommer ihåg.

Även om dem flesta mobiler är på surr
så hör jag allt twitter som pågår i detta ***.
och jag vet att det mesta inte är om mig
och jag vet att man inte borde bry sig men
jag bryr mig.

och det känns så motsägelsefull
för jag har alltid hört att det är någonting fint i att bry sig
att bry sig,
men nu när jag är större är det som att världen har växt med mig
och nu finns det för mycket att bry sig,
att bry sig om.

Hej jag heter Kalle och jag mår inte bra,
jag får notiser om att det är så ungdomar ska ha det.
Jag sitter i min plats längst bak i klassrummet till vänster,
när jag plötsligt ser en bild,  
jag tror jag ser ett mönster.
här uppifrån som utanför vårt fönster.

för vi är ett *** fullt av instängda fåglar,

det finns svanar som alla anar kommer växa och bli kända som alla vill vara
det finns kråkor som är stolta över att ta andras lycka/ det andra har , och det finns hackspettar
och duvor
gökar
ugglor,
och jag

och jag är rädd att jag är en pingvin eller en struts
jag vet inte om ni vet men av alla 10000 fåglar är just dem de ända som inte kan flyga
och jag tror jag är en pingvin
men kanske är det bra för jag är jag.

oceans of water, beaches of sand
are we living, are we belonging
to something big that we do not understand

time is fleeting in the ocean
i am floating in it too
it’s summer now i am happy

and i hope you are happy too

everything I do hurts you,
my happiness stresses you out
my energi smother yours,
highlights your loss of it
the same way the kind gestures show me
your weariness
I am well and you aren't  
I would take it all
in a nano second but I can’t
I’ve tried but I can’t
I play tired and I play sick
I’ve tried to show that we’re the same
but i know  
it doesn’t make you less sick
not a single bit
all I can do is to grow
and try to hold your hand
even if you’re left behind
and all this, all this
until death will tear us apart.

I can feel the normality
sending a friend request to death
I can feel time accepting it
I start to recognize the blended soft colors
and the feeling of life coming and going
just hoping it isn’t in my hand.
I am turning into someone else
I say I’m happy
because I know it matters
We have one thing in common here
we don’t complain because the nurses teach us that’s what kills us in the end
I try to stand up outside all of it
I try to feel like anything else matters
but it doesn’t
I’m scared my happiness somewhere else
takes away the happiness we have
until death tears us apart

I take the buss back home
I leave you behind
I fake my way up to sit at the top so that I can see
I have a photo of you on my phone to remember
just in case you would go away
It’s a new feeling a mix between everything
and nothing
I write it down
because I can’t loose these seconds
just in case you would go away
It makes life feel so important
It makes everything else feel stupid.
It makes you stronger
It makes everything heavy
and all you can is hope, hope that it’s not
until death tears us apart

There’s a pregnant woman who wants my seat
I let her have it
I go all the way back I pass one with a burn mark on his face
I wonder how many tears have happened the last ten minutes on this buss
I wonder how they take it
I don’t know how I take it
I know the barr is lower here
the scary part isn’t getting sick
here it’s dying
and in that case
I know I’m the lucky one  
Until death happens to me
and I feel happiness knowing
I’m the lucky one  
I can be light flying over a bridge while everybody else takes the buss
until your death will tear me apart.

I guess you can call it lying
saying you’re fine when you’re not.
But it’s also a way of protecting
the dark spots on the mind that one got

just **** then

There’s a picture that you took
it looks green
There’s two mountains and a sky
and a field of grass
The sky is green, but only because it reflects the grass
the same way that the sky is blue because the ocean looks blue
or who takes from who?  
There’s some yellow too
You said those colors were friends
i believe that to be true

If yellow died green wouldn’t be green anymore
i think i’m green and you were yellow
because you knew that truth
you took that picture
for me to remember you

There’s a picture that you took
it looks like me
There’s two arms and a head
and a field of hair
I take my paint and paint you in
so now I can show them
what we could have bin.

Sometimes I think that might be
the only reason
why I write anything,            
anything at all.
To remember,
remember that we were friends
and that we had great conversations.

Did that title excuse the pretentious thoughts in my head

Because I really want you to know I’m actually a lot of fun, no?

If I say **** enough times do you start to understand that

I’m fun
****
I’m fun
I’m so much fun
****
I’m fun
i’m fun
I’m fun
****
I'm fun

I don’t like bacon, I don’t like small talk
I don’t like you being fake and telling me you like me when you don’t.
I don’t like you saying I’m pretentious,
Because I’m not or I am
I don’t know
What does it even mean?
I don’t like you telling me I’m pretentious like it’s a bad thing.
I’m fun, I’m a lot of fun and in the end we will all die as bacon.

Look, at that cup of coffee
Standing there
Without the fear of getting cold
The sun heats it up before a singel degree
Even starts to think about leaving

Look, look at that mountain
Standing there
Stronger than any hous or tree
Never like the ice afraid of breaking down

Look, look at time
Always moving forward
Giving people hard times
Never letting them have a single second back

Look, look at that kindergarten teacher
Teaching kids things he knows
Things he knows that he knows
Never afraid to be outsmarted

Look, look at that child
pretending better than anybody else
Turning nothing into play
Degrees into creatures
Mountains into needed friends
Time into the the enemy
And the teachers into outdated non fiction
Because she knows
Fiction is her home.

Everybody knew,
that everybody cared but nobody dared to show it.
Everybody knew,
what everybody knows but nobody knew what it was.
Everybody felt that pain,
everybody can share that pain but nobody cared to do it.
We are alone now.