To the ones who loved me wrong
To the ones who loved me wrong
You were the one who didn‘t want me,
but you took me anyway.
By mood, by chance, by my innocence.
We loved each other in a Karaoke box
you called it all “trauma”
I received presents I didn't want
I accepted them anyway for you.
And in the end,
you stood in my door,
asking back for them
(a whole bunch of garbage, call it “life”)
and me, holding a beer, didn't understand what was going on.
Now I know you don‘t only hate me,
you hate an entire minority.
You were the one who couldn't love anybody
besides yourself.
And after three days together
I couldn't stop the vomit;
it had the color of blue depression.
While I was lying in the hospital bed,
the drip next to me easing my mind.
You came in and the nurse was away
And I started to vomit
again.
Wine and books and my arms around you
when you were writing.
It felt wrong from the beginning
but I never disliked us.
But you still probably love yourself
only.
You were the one who needed a replacement.
In a world full of consumption,
your never ending struggle of self optimization;
it felt so alien to me.
And I won’t forget how you warned me
to not go to Ísland.
And after seeing the hopeful snowy mountain tops,
my own memories,
glittering beautifully in the cold
waters of Gullfoss;
I knew our story came to an end.
It died peacefully in the cold air
of the country you warned me about.
And you couldn‘t stand the pressure
but more than that you coulnd‘t stand being with me.
You wanted me to be like the others
more healthy, more happy, more superficial, more ignorant.
(I still don‘t know why you decided for
a pink pudding when all you wanted
was a green leek.)
Knowing it would end anyway,
you planned it probably all from the start.
And I gave in, tired of wasting and waiting my time.
To the ones who loved me right
I met you in a diner speaking Japanese to me
and later you taught me Spanish.
We had a house, a child and always met
to dance in the moonlight
wearing my most beauiful dress.
Stunningly unreal.
I staied awake too long, never regretting it.
I couldn’t part
from my screen, all filled up with you.
A whole second life we spent together
and you knew all about me, even now.
It feels like yesterday since we have never met.
You were the one who dragged me out in the forest at night,
I lay on the ground, crying, feeling dirty leaves
and mud in my face.
You left me alone on my birthday
and came back the next morning,
me sitting all night crying in your room.
Knewing I should die.
But I didn’t.
You gave me the drama I deserved when I was young.
And then you started cooking for me, cleaning for me
and holding my hair when the blue depression again
hit the toilet
all day.
All night.
You never gave up on me.
We parted on March 11th.
Radiation killed my radioactive love for you.
You were the one waking me at night,
choking me, calling me chicken and
seeing Aliens all around and around and around,
making me believe they are really there.
And the more you broke up with me,
the more we staied together and I loved you,
I dearly loved you
In your anxiety, in your paranoia,
in your delusions, in your catalepsy.
After all the inspiration you gave me,
you left me for my own sake.
And I know you will always protect me from yourself.
Even now.
To the future you who doesn’t know me
You are the one who doesn’t ask what’s wrong,
but the one who sees what’s right.
You are the one feeding me with knowledge, with literature,
with languages
I never dared to speak.
You are the one, who sees something in me
and others,
something I cannot see.
You are the one who is dedicated, open-minded, vulnerable.
You are the one who won’t induce decay.
You are the one reading Marx and Kafka and Murakami and Brecht
and Laxness and Fitzgerald and Salinger and you
are the one who will take time
to accept my body
my scars
my fear of being myself.
And you will want me to have more
of
you
Who will not love me wrong.
