Direktlänk till inlägg 20 juni 2015

Punkt

Av Sandra Johansson - 20 juni 2015 20:07

I am hard to love:
the way I switch back and forth so quickly,
my emotions always shifting so swiftly?
I am a pendulum, swinging too fast
for you to read me; you never know
if you will be greeted with sweetness or acidity,
and I?m sorry. I told you: loving me
is like walking on eggshells.
Don?t breathe too quietly, I need your essence?
now you?re breathing too loudly;
I can?t stand your presence.
One night my mother found me crying
and I became a monster in her child?s skin:
I snapped at her heart when she tried to reach out.
She said, ?I just want to hug you.?
I said, ?Tonight, tonight I don?t want you to.?
I am hard to love, a parasite starving
for attention, give me attention?
but not like that, that sounded fake,
the tone of your voice isn?t what I wanted,
I didn?t want that kind of attention, you?re
doing it wrong. And if by chance you do it right,
you are perfect. I love you. You are a sun
and I want to build solar systems around you,
build a pedestal for you, build my world around you,
until your illusion of perfection is shattered
by the smallest disappointment; then I will loathe
you on and off while your flaws fall in and out of shadow.
I should come with a warning label
for unpredictable weather because I can shine love
on you at the hour and rain down resentment
at the next, all the while carrying a flurry of panic
that you will abandon me too, so I?ll cut to the chase:
cut you off, cut you out, and cut my wrists
because I know that you will forsake me one day;
you would be right to do so, because I am worthless,
a waste of effort, I am borderline,
and don?t you dare say it doesn?t matter;
don?t you lie that you can love me this way.
You asked me what I wanted and what I wanted
was for you to worry about me, but then
I felt guilty when you worried so I tried
to reassure you that I was fine. Then I was angry
at you for believing me. I am not fine.
I remember the night I tried to jump off a bridge
after a bad break up with my first partner
and they called me manipulative,
but in the moment when I?d been climbing up the rail,
I hadn?t been thinking of how to hurt them.
My mind was too busy trying to answer
the call of the cars below. I am hard to love;
I live my life on a suicidal impulse.
I?ll try to kill myself because I?m bored,
or because the emptiness is so sharp inside of me
that it?s whittled its name into the lining of my stomach,
or because I want attention and I don?t know how to ask,
or because I?m a butterfly with torn wings
caught in the web of memories and mistakes
spun together in my mind and nothing makes sense
so I try to carve some sense into my flesh
as if meaning can be birthed from the womb
of slit skin and blood and everything is overwhelming
and all it takes is a moment to push me
to the edge of suicide, and you?ll ask me
why I want to die but the truth is it?s less about dying
and more about self-destruction, about stopping
the tornado spiral of emotions churning
inside of me, my own volatile whirlwinds gusting
guilt and rage and rain that rusts my heart
and I just want to stop, I just want to stop,
I just want to stop.