uppdatering på två språk

1.
it can't have been me,
she said
I was out of my mind,
totally
I was doing alright
a little wierd but just fine
how did I end up here
scars on my arms
and pills to spare

I was a cute little girl
in ponytails and a striped dress
I was a shy little girl
how can I be such a mess

don't blame it on my parents
they're nice, they're alright
don't blame it on biology
my sister is doing just fine

this can't be me,
she said
it just shouldn't be
I was a cute little girl once
without a dark cloud
hovering over me
just a shy little girl once
I garantee
missing two front teeth
and with a bruised knee

..I was doing alright
a little wierd but just fine
how did I end up here
scars on my arms
and pills to spare

2.
I drink too much coffee
smoke too many cigarettes
with the taste of last nights beer
still lingering on my tongue
I keep asking what I'm doing here
but it's the only world I know
with my paint-stained,
nicotine-glided fingers
I used to think it was cool
now they're calling on the phone
and they're texting me messages
asking what I'm doing tonight
there's a new club downtown
think we should check it out
so I leave the canvas, leave the dream
and head out for my funeral
lets hope it's atleast obscene
'cause we sit in these bars,
where the beer is cheap
we talk of life and art
and try to be funny
if we can't be smart
have you seen my coffin
I've painted it in the colour of your lips
and someone tagged it on facebook
as the judas and the king
have you seen my coffin
crafted in the latest style
yeah you know it's so DIY
how can we be so broke
and still afford the beer
will we ever even do,
what we've been talking about here
another cigarette and another dream
another cup of coffee and another scheme
welcome to my funeral
atleast it's obscene

3.
Min brorsa säger att allt går med tejp
min pappa säger latex fog

men jag vet,
att allt går
så länge jag har dig

4,
Jag letar förgäves
efter tankar värda att sägas högt
tystnaden fyller min mun
och skapar beläggningar på min tunga
inte ens presidents
nya tandborste
kan ta bort

vi möts, hejar och kramas
och jag letar förgäves
efter tankar värda att sägas högt

dina föräldrars tom

bristen på dina fingrar
har dödat min kropp
vi begravde mig i vansätter
på dina föräldrars tomt

uppdatering

She got a pink shirt on
the print says she's hot
she tells me I'm not
but I'm not the one
with the fingers down my throat
and unlike you
I can run in these shoes
these steel-toed boots
will walk all over you
so don't look at me
like I tipped the doorman to get in
you can swirl that guy
around your finger
for the bottle of champange
you're drinking with your friends
I'm pulling back my fifth beer
and I've got the money
to pay for myself, honey
I've paid my dues
and now it's someone elses turn
this witch won't burn

passing by my old school
makes me feel old
we were the children of the revolution
buying youth coulture
on glossy magazine covers
we shaped our misfit-selves
to pass the test
how to be revolutionary
too young to be contemporary
we couldn't wait to leave home
looking for a group of our own
trying to make it into the scene
trying to join the scheme
where are you now?
I don't know how but we
made it out alright









later that day:
1.
he had a never ending supply
of new dirty jokes
you could know him a life time
and never hear him tell the same joke twice
he could drink a bottle of whiskey
and barely even slur
he lived in a house off the main road
they turned of the electricity
so he kept to the living room
he wrote a suicide note
on the back of a lottery ticket
I hope you win,
I'm crossing my fingers
how come we never knew
where he learned to tie a noose


2.
he liked to tell dirty jokes
kept a snare in his backyard
he could drink a bottle of whiskey
and barely even slur

she dressed like a humble bee
cause she liked the way they fly
you could touch your thumb with your forefinger
around her anorexic arm

my sister came home
to find me on the bed
next to empty bottles
of anti-depressants and sleeping pills

where's the womb
where such desperation arose
where's the seed
of so much pain and so little hope

the best of you

why would I give you the best of me
you can have the rest of me
the best is for the people I don't know

the coolest clothes
and the funniest jokes
the sweetest smile
and the clever monolouges
I save it for the poeple I don't know

I don't want the best of you
just give me what's left of you
when you're through with people you don't know

I'm to beat to go out
I'm staying home tonight
but this home is no home
and its eating up my brains
in the emptiness that follows
too many thoughts remain
the darkness can be blinding
in the brightest sun
too many scars reminding
of the times I've come undone

someone is in the stereo
singing songs of love and hate
something's crawling in my brain
killing of both trust and faith

I sit here with the records
and the music someone else wrote
my mouth is forming the words
I know will come up next
a song with no sound
like a stray in the dog-pound
I'm waiting to be put down

I'm just staying home tonight..

I don't think you're cool enough
but I will hang out with you if you speak in rhymes

been living of caffeine and nicotine
struggling to decide
should I imitate art
or should I imitate life
trying hard to socializa
but people are just apes
in drag disguise

today I'm sitting in the sun
drinking wine left over from when my sister
tried to impress a danish girl

it's a good day

I'm not nice enough to end up last.

# ?

you think being alone
is for the strong minded
you are lonely
you think that makes you strong.

your rebellion
against her childish refuse to convert
is that of a three-yr-old
refusing to eat the fruits
put out on the table
to be shoved down our throats

we are blessed
the gods we invented had told us so
but the hell we created for others
is at out front door

it brings three gifts
of hate,
doubt,
and time off
in a closed psychiatric facility

you are blessed.
you are strong.
you are alone.

ugliness

it was so ugly
how you left yesterday
you had to go out of town
on a crusade, a search
for your own amusement
as ugly as my half-arsed
anger, and not so original
love of self-rightiousness.
am I a woman now?
have I excelled at the strategy
of the silence treatment
am I yr woman now?
have I earnt the gift
of commoness
that will declare me queen
of the microwaves owens
and dirty dishes..
am I ugly now?

no one can beat
ny cooler than thou
attitude
since nerd was made the new cool
you all look like me
in elementary school

(I'm so ahead of you)

Demands on sales

There's a demand
after demands
so we've been manufacturing
must have:s
We're selling a lot
of must do, should do:s
we feel bad for you.

We're selling schedulers
to make you believe
there's time for an hour's panic
on Tuesday,
between three and four am.

rerun night

My fifth beer
watching CSI reruns
Las Vegas
not that Miami crap
I'm feeling a little down
but I forgot to take my meds today
Tomorrow will be better
the sun always lights things up
and I've got plenty of projects
a painting, handmade jewelry
and that poem
about the demands
Tomorrow's always better
and it'll be at least two days
'till my next fifth beer
and maybe then
it'll be M.A.S.H instead

Industry of cool

Everyone knows
every pick up line
Everyone has done
every drug known to man

Come back to the unknown side
let's try out unbroken land
I've lost my frown
loose your mind
In an industry of cool
let's be faulty produced
We can drop the vintage clothes
undrop the names
get back to curiosity again

I'll be naked for you
I'll stand in front of you
with my hanging boobs
and you can see my skin
behind the tattoos

den som blir över

Jag har förlorat min takt
förlorat min ton
jag är tönten och askungen
grodan och prinssessan
jag tror att ingen ser igenom
för jag vet, att alla är för upptagna
med att sitta rätt,
är håret korrekt?
kan jag byta samtal
från hyran till världen?
ingen har tid
att se igenom
våra genomskinliga mallar
genom stilfulla
fönsterglas - glasögon
alla är så upptagna att välja lag
att ingen ser vem som blir över
alla är så upptagna att välja
alla tror att det är dom som blir över

Ugly

I smell of cigaretttes
and last night's beer
not flowers and freshly washed hair
I've got perfect scars
not perfect skin
I keep fire and rage
in my womb
I drink my coffee black and strong
not your doubble latte moccachino
my poisonous tongue
could burn your skin
I'm not a virgin or a whore
not one of you skeleton bores
and all you anger junkies
you can come to me to score
I keep fire and rage
in my womb, my heart, I'm sold
this is pure. this is instant poetry.
this isn't even
spell checked.

I am so weak, I can't stand on my own,
when the rage quiets down
my legs just can't walk anymore.
I am the cripple
in all your Sunday stories.
You are the merciful sister,
blessed with the virtuous of a saint

But in my dysfunctional mind
the bitterness grows
and I wait, for the rage
to fill me with strength;
to crash and burn,
one more time
to make it through
just one more night.

everyday life and another fight

I guess the rain is back again,
though I really tried to see the sun.
I don't know how to live, at work
at night, I can't stand my everyday life
so I picked a fight last night
just to prove I love you
we try so hard to fight through
but all the mud and all the rain
it's like quicksand in my brain
I can't get up, keep
being pulled deeper in
into my own mind
I need you to give me a hand
but I'm too tired to scream out
and all the pain, it just
turns to bitterness, and rage
keep thinking of myself at 15
the world couldn't hold my rage
you say I've come a long way
sure feels like I've walked a thousand miles
I just want to lay down,
have some peace of mind
I must have laid in a thousand beds
by now I should have it made
and after a thousand fights
by now I should have me licked
but every day is just
a darker shade of gray
so with this bitter taste in my mind
I pick another fight
are you feeling loved now?

Fresh ink smells
like ugliness
like newly formed thoughts
when too drunk to spell


..and perhaps my sunglasses
my new best accesories
can not shelter me

what's real..

I don’t care much
For the truth
‘cause the truth is at it’s best
just realtive
and at it’s worse
and most common use
just another way to be lied to
I care more for what’s real
Like that smile I recieved
From across the street
From the girl who matched my
Homo-mafia pin

Junkyard Poetry

I believe in junk. You can believe in anything you want.

english/svensk/svengelsk poetry.

I want to make art fleshy again
I want women who won’t suck in their tummy
Who will sink low into the chairs and
Relax, not sit on the edge and hold their breath