raðljóst

raðljóst Sep 2013

you kiss my lips,
and after, i look into the dark spot of your eyes
and i search for your soul.
i was so sure i would find you there,
hiding behind your pupils, which have grown so wide
in the dark of the room.
your thoughts, i reckoned, would present themselves to me
like abstract art painted on the canvas of your mind.
and though i stared into your eyes i found nothing
but blue and black discs staring right back.
but if eyes are the windows to your soul,
please leave them open for me
to climb right in.

from tonight.

i'm very terrible at titles.

raðljóst Sep 2013

Untitled

i'm in love with a boy
but i change my pronouns to say that
i love her
because of the ones who cannot do so.
because of the lovers who have to hide.
because of the injustice people have done to people.
we are all equal in birth, but live in an unequal society.
i am simply another girl who loves a boy.
no questions asked.
no awkward glances, no stiff hands to shake.
no glares, no whispers.
because i'm privileged enough
to be on the side of love that someone deemed
acceptable.
and because i don't agree with having to pick and choose who you get to love
based on their possession of particular parts.
you love someone for their energy, their personality.
the way they hold you in the night.
the trust you share, the bonds you make.
you love them because you are you and they are they.
she loves her.
he loves him.
she loves him.
he loves her.
or her. or him.
the pronouns
should not
seem odd
to us.
but our society majorly consists of
gritted teeth and
disapproving eyes.
and because of this,
because i love someone
of the opposite gender,
and because i do not
suffer from any hate,
i will quietly fight
the cookie-cutter
for you
with pronouns
and poems.

I'm bisexual, but people assume I'm straight because I'm with a guy.
So okay, I'll take on that role and give the perspective of a straight person who knows how LGBT people must feel and who wants them to get to experience love like I do. Openly. With acceptance. Scream it to the world and no one says a ******* thing against it.
Because your love is the same as my love.
Because your love means as much to you as it does to any straight couple.
Because your love is as pure as mine. As pure as you want it to be. As golden as your heart can possibly shine, and baby, you'll shine on.

I read an older poem and then wrote this. It's not super-good and it doesn't do what I was thinking justice, but whatever, it's really late and at least I got the words out, somewhat.
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/something-incredible/
Because unfortunately right now we're not quite there yet.
Because we should be there now.

We all deserve this.

raðljóst Sep 2013

a blind portrait of a lover

.
my memory becomes so paper thin
so i trace my hands over your skin
to memorize the way you are
.
.
darling
.
i could paint you in the dark
.

raðljóst Sep 2013

September

September. Six o´clock.
I can hear the neighbours talking and birds singing.
Outside in the orange air there is a familiar smell, and it moves me to dance.
It made me so happy thinking of summer evenings to come (some with you, too).
Now, with a little bit of encouragement and care, tomatoes grow, much like my love for you.
Summer.
Sunset.
Embrace it.
It feels surreal. All a dream. Time passing and smiles coming and going.
Coming. Going.
But why not staying? I dream of staying still. Poised in the golden light of the evening, forever.
What a delicate feeling. So long to grow into this and so quickly to leave it forever.
Forever. Is it possible, or just some idea dreamed up by a poet who thought too much.
I want to stay in this moment. Tomatoes. Sunlight. Distant conversation.
Dancing. Soft grass. Bare feet.
First love. Forever love.
So bittersweet is summer.
So simple are wishes this season.
To feel like a poet by simply encountering an eloquent evening.
To be a poet by speaking the words that summer brings.
To live forever in a moment, to not feel sorrow for the rest of life you would miss.
To be everlasting. To be ever-dancing. To be ever-young.
Summer.
A few moments of daydreaming,
and it's already gone.

But tomorrow I will dance with you, in September, the last leg of Summer, and for the first time since that three-in-the-morning bliss in March.

raðljóst Aug 2013

night-time:

the feeling of freedom when walking on empty asphalt avenues
&
how the dew sets upon grass like stars glittering in the sky.

things that i love.

raðljóst Aug 2013

góða nótt.

the space between my dreams and reality
terrifies me, taunts me, tricks me into
thinking i'm living some other life.
last night i dreamt you hated me,
read all my journals and poems
and decided i was filth.
when i sleep i feel wretched,
tossing and turning in my bed
as my dream-self lives a nightmare.
and when i wake up, i'm greeted by
that same sun pouring in, telling me
it's a new day. it's a new life. i'm free.
but if half my time alive is spent eyes-closed
but somehow open, doesn't that count for something?
doesn't my pain in the night become significant?
i don't want to close my eyes.
i don't want to stumble into slumber.

but i give up once more.
*góða nótt

it was one of the most terrifying feelings
i felt like i had a gaping hole in my chest
where my heart should be
where my soul would live
where my sanity is.
you couldn't even meet my eyes,
for more than a second.
that glare broke me into thousands of pieces,
and i became a mosaic of sorrow.
that night it rained and rained,
but the water wasn't enough to wash away the pain.
nothing could clean the cut you left me.
what went wrong?
what had i wrote?
and i woke up, searching for my journals in my
now-awake mind,
tearing up my could-have-been poems,
burning letters i never sent to you.

but then i was at your house, curled up on your bed,
we were listening to kalimba and dancing with our fingers.
happy wasn't something to be questioned.
eleven months and not much pain has arisen,
my heart has not broken.
i love you, asleep and awake.

raðljóst Aug 2013

august is nearly over

this is what i'll never understand:
why my heart breaks in such
inconvenient ways - to tear
out my lifeline would be
a lesser pain than this,
for this means not
knowing whether
it is right to cry
or right to get
up and walk
away...