P I I A

So let me be in chaos. Give me the space I never asked for. Pick up pieces and empty trays. Never had. Never felt. Left. You did and I did not. In the early hours with no sleep I whisper. Come back to me. I wasn’t prepared. Not for you, not for anything. Just lost fuckboyz and drinkz until dawn. Tiring and dragging. Crossing fingers yet staying in the same bars. There was no room for love. I made it still, in everything. I made room. In chaos. Inside dreams. Because of everything i ever wanted. Because. You. I made you and I, fit. In country songs I now shouldn’t listen to, and new habits. I watched. Followed. Like the growing apple tree outside your window, laying naked on your black leather coach believing it was somehow us. Going from green to blossom, thinking about the best time to be in love. In transition. Spring come summer. I told you "this is going to be the worst one yet" right after you told me. When I couldn’t believe it yet. When my mind still wanted to understand you, first. So I did. Told you what you needed to hear so you could leave, yet never asking you to. I told you I cannot. Not ever. Not even now. Because my body still wants you, and only you. I can’t force it. I know. I’ve tried. My touch will never become yours. I know. It is a waiting game. Making small changes within something I need, yet don’t want. Not yet. Just for the sake of it. Sharing it like it was news, my addiction. Us. I display you, but i know you don’t mind. I promise they don’t see everything. Not the way you did. Unfiltered happiness. Light. Love. Truly. Deeply. Sincerely. Not holding back because we never said we really had to. No reason until it was there in front of me. For me to leave too. Pick up pieces and empty trays. Pack bags. Move. Work. My work. Like really. No talk. No drinking with fuckboyz who think i want to mother their children more than just, fucking. A brave assumption, I tell them seeing irony not accessing their minds. Wondering when honesty suddenly became prediction. Age, I think. My age. What I want them to say. Pull my hair back and whisper. "Underrated". "Undervalued". I know.

but I know at some point ur eyez would darken. while mine will not u would stop seeking me. and I would remember, the time when i was all u wanted. u will leave me and even though i've stopped running after you i will still want u i will want to draw back curtains. bursting bubblez. rupturing ur anger, consoling my grief, seeing yours, wrap u in warmth until it made u zick, until it passed and u, for once in ur life. gave in. i wonder; are u too passed gone? or are u like me? are we similar inzide the grey layerz of the world? not fully there, not fully gone. but where a glimpze of us, even in hiding, will flood like a pressured wave of blinding light, across a whole universe. iz that why u seek me?

who knew how hard one could party in a large town that often sleeps through the night, every night. i did not and fell in love with anything that could keep me up. the rock'n roll of my own making cuz no one else were creating it the way i wanted. beer, wine, cocktailz and male attention on repeat. loved it. smelled and inhaled it. literally. it never really fucked me over. not hard enough so the freedom of it kept me going. i stayed up. and now I’m waiting for the next sentence/chapter. The Until. but it might never come maybe becauze i don’t believe in it anymore. It never existed. It’s a lie. Of innocence returning scraping away anything dirrty. I don’t want that. I ask myself how I can bind complexity, not like a puzzle because puzzles have endings when u figure them out. who wants to be figured out. but how to keep myzelf yet slow down the stuff that slowly kill. not when you’re 30. or 40. but maybe when i’m 50, somewhere there. and how will i raise a child. not there yet, but in my mind. i have said to my therapist, by start using my mind. at least more than what is being uzed now. searching for meaning, more of it cuz i have found a bunch already. but in irl. waiting and drinking. polish myzelf with no money. dænze. fuck. love. carry white dresses and continue embracing a zmall culture i once hated. see if it fits, trying not to force anything. not for anyone. tho i love them, everyone. and i love a Man's Man. therez lotz of them here. i found one. he makes thingz real. or iz it me. im scared to loose him but im more scared of loozing myself. progress one can say. i say; aye. not joking.

in the ups and downs i would do everything to make you stay. but i did not. ate my own words. i had to.  I say. still. leave if you want. run. find something or someone other. simpler. maybe maybe not. i will stay here. with everything. the one i made. with intention and never by randomness. the one we both never see anywhere else. I say. still. if only you knew. how similar we were. I say. if only you knew. how I, in leaving. am chasing. retracing. kneeling before. her.

Jeg våkner, sovet i 12 t. I tiden det tar meg å forbanne et rom, gardiner som ikke er mine, bli varm igjen når jeg ser over på Eple som ligger i høyet og sover. I løpet av en foggy men på samme tid, mest klar tilstand av tanker som har fryst seg inn i en deilig krystall tilstand. Når det er to dager siden jeg drakk sist. To dager siden jeg var hjemme kl 08 på morgenen etter å ha oppholdt meg på alle nivåer på et sted, med noen, jeg aldri tenkte jeg skulle ende opp hos. En jeg vil forsvinne med. En som alltid kommer til å være mer interessert i noe tidvis magisk jeg har mellom bena og musikksmaken min, enn hvem de ekte vennene mine er, grunnen til at jeg skriver og hvem jeg var for fem år siden. I et par minutter er alt det på avstand og jeg ser ting like klart som november sola som allerede er på vei litt for langt over horisonten enn hva som burde være lov. Jeg ser en viten om hvor lite alt det, mannlige barn og mine egne egotripper, egentlig betyr i det store og hele. Lenger ut, til jeg sitter her og leter bak tanker, finner ned til følelser som jeg prøver å gjøre rene igjen. Søker gråt og sorg i stedet for kropp og angst. Prøver å forstå hvorfor det er så mye forkledd løgn rundt meg. Så lite som sitter igjen i hendene mine etter alt jeg har gitt til tusen nattetimer fylt til randen av alkohol og håp. Husker på å ta ansvar for min del, men ikke for mye. Lurer på hvorfor jeg har blitt så streng og nedlatende. Som om det er den eneste utvei. Den eneste måten å interagere og samtidig holde igjen på. Og gjennom den, beholde noe av hvem jeg er, huske hvem jeg var. Til noe endres. Som jeg har sagt altfor lett. Til jeg gir opp på den søteste måten mulig. Den som smaker av dyp frigjøring. Ikke påtvungen selvstendighet, holdt sammen av ren viljestyrke og hvite silkekjoler. Selv hvor lenge jeg insisterer på å ha de på, faller de på et eller annet punkt til bakken. Av meg eller han. Eller en annen.