Tag Archives: Creative Writing

A Conversation 

“Why did you start doing this?”

“I guess I wanted to say something”

“So say it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“What changed?”

“I wanted to tell them that life is beautiful. That it all meant something. Now I’m no longer sure it does.”

“So tell them that.”

“But they may judge me. Or worse, they may get upset.”

“The truth isn’t always pretty.”

“I know that. I guess I just wanted to…”

“You wanted to what?”

“I’m don’t know. What if this just isn’t for me? Writing, I mean.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

“I guess so.”

“So tell them.”

“Tell them what?”

“That maybe life isn’t as beautiful as you thought it were.”

“Maybe life isn’t as beautiful as I thought it were.”

“Good. Now, why not?”

“Because I am in the biggest city in Sweden with two million people and I still feel lonely.”

“And that makes life not beautiful?”

“It’s not that it’s not beautiful, it’s just that it’s lonely sometimes.”

“Did you see that?”

“See what?”

“You wrote “sometimes”. You could’ve written life is lonely always but you didn’t.”

“I guess I did.”

“And you know what?”

“What?”

“You said it. You told the truth. Good for you. That’s the first step. Now you can tell them other things that are true.”

“What makes you so sure of this?”

“Because I’m you. You’re having a conversation with yourself, buddy.”

“I really fucking hate you sometimes.”

“I really don’t give a shit. I got you to write.”

Words In My Mind

A wind came along hurling words in my mind,
now I’m drumming the pen on the paper.
Scared of what now may leak if I get it all out,
so I get up and out and I run.

Smaller Pieces

I fall in love with pieces,
smaller pieces of their being
perks and quirks and qualities
I’m scared the world is still not seeing.
Like the way he sang along to songs
he’d never before heard.
Or the way that he knew everything,
then cried in my arms at night.
Or how he saw me beautiful
when no one else could do it.

Just Lack of Light

It was dark yesterday. Maybe that’s something to be expected on a Saturday in the city. The sun wasn’t shining. It was past midnight when you went out for the round.

But listen to me, please. It was dark.
Dead.
They were dead.
There was no life.

What?

I have read somewhere that darkness is just a lack of light, so I turned around and looked for light.
Made eye-contact with the security guard outside the bar.
Dead.
He raised his eyebrows at me.
I shook my head.
I smiled.
Shy.

I kept on walking, drunken laughter behind me.
“I don’t miss it”, I thought, I turned up the volume to my headphones.
Rounded a corner, past a couple of teenagers. Made sure I didn’t made eye-contact with them, too. I don’t want to know of their liveliness, or lack thereof.

Passed by an empty police car outside the station. It was ready to go, but empty. Ready to save people. Maybe there had been a robbery. Maybe someone had been hurt. Maybe someone had been too angry. Maybe someone was dead. But I can guarantee you they wouldn’t take care of the dead eyes just round the corner.
Ready to save people.
But not quite.
I shook my head. Said Jesus a couple of times because that’s all I was getting out.

Across the street was a church.
Also dark.
So I stopped, looked at it.
My grandfather tells me it’s lovely there, the best one yet. Lovely lights, lovely preacher, lovely people who will sit by your table when you drink your coffee. Who am I to argue with a seventy year old man who has gone to church his whole life?
But why is it so dark?

Darkness is just a lack of light.

Jesus.
Jesus?
JESUS?!

I shouted it, but quietly. In my head. There are certain things you don’t shout past midnight, now a Sunday. This I’ve been told.

Where are you?

                                                     

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing, Mom.”

“What are you writing?”

“I – I don’t know.”

To Write About You

I could tell you about the bluest of oceans.
An ocean so blue you’d find calmness in its complexity,
unity in its ever-changing streams
Where peace would be found,
a place for awe, a place for dreams.

Or I could tell you about the darkest of oceans.
An ocean dark as the nights
where sleep seems to fail you.
Waves tickling your face,
then throwing your body against the rocks,
leaving you grasping for breath.

I could even tell you about the woods,
and the stories yet to be told.
About grand views and fireplaces,
of the knights riding west,
or how the wolves all went wild,
that time the moon shone too bright.

I tried to write about you,
but still the page remained blank,
the clock went on ticking,
and the night became daylight.
And no matter my efforts,
with someone like you
my words could never get it right.

Far Off At Sea

On a pretty little island
far off at sea.
I was left to discover,
left with nowhere to flee.
Long were the days
putting faith in the ocean.
Long were the nights
getting lost in emotions.
I knew that one day I’d be taken away,
setting sails for the waters
and do nothing but pray.
But, oh, just for now
leave me be here ashore.
There’s still time for mercy
and so much to explore.

You and I

Me, with my sarcastic mouth,
and messed up mind.

You, with your pure heart
and dancing eyes.

We could conquer the world,
you and I.

Or we could completely,
utterly,
destroy it.