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when i found my lover with another lover
i took a picture and hung it on my wall
it reminds me of being humble
the people I meet
on the mental ward
as a psychiatry nurse
I don’t tell to reveal
I tell in order to respect
recapture
lifes in a system
of dreams and despair
reliant on help
that’s not always healing
acceptance
that’s not always available
I hope in my sharing
stigmation will shiver
enclosed shoes from MaiVieDeMonat on Vimeo.
I INHABIT A SPACE BETWEEN HAPPINESS AND DEPRESSION. A BRILLIANT SPACE
N E U R O S I S
my worth belongs to rules
I learned that very young
no structure, no sweets
I wash my hands 13times
feelings are dangerous
derupture discipline
parks me downstairs
‘mum, I promise, I do better next time’
I was my hands 16times
life ist dangerous
the older I get
more freedom, more fragil
stairs slippery
I was my hands 36times
I cover up the basement memories
with 56 white napkins
if one folds with flaw
I do it all over
please do not disturb
ask me why
I won’t remember
I keep you on distance
in order to survive
feelings brings disorder
please understand
has nothing to do with you
you are perfect
I try hard to be perfect too
I wash my hands 87times
I’m nearly there
I tell myself
again and again
one day
there will be no stairs
no basement
I just have to wash my hands
one more time.
04.07.23 BACK IN SYRIA
one hand hardagainst his ear
shutted eyes
no sight no fight
no frequenz no fear
that’s one way to survive
the painful years
of prison behind
the painful years
of pity ahead
next to his cousin
body marked up in blue
‘What did they do to him?’
I wonder
while I introduce myself
a split second
he acknowledges my exsistence
then the flashes take him back
before I manage to continue
back in Syria
images of his wife
and kids
in prison too
dead
or worse
imagnination is lead by negativity
I can’t change that
I want to touch his skin
brush away
the rings under his eyes
the blood clots
spread like grease
tell him everything will be ‘ok’
security behind these walls
it would be a lie
escapism
thought’s best friend
I give him dry bread and water
all he wants
humble
I look back
as I leave the room
I recognise
a tiny crumble of trust
landing on the plate
I enter another story
in the hallway
‘Why is the applejuice warm again?’
a patient pokes frustrated at me
I try to be calm
tolerant
she’s in her story
I whisper
her story is valid too
her dreams
her nightmares
my story is valid too
my dreams
my nightmares
dark is dead
behind the door
plate shatters
against the floor
I remind myself
when I dream dark
I dream lighter
humble.
ADHD
DOPAMIN DROPS DEAD
VERY FAST
I SLIP IN IT’S TRACES
HURT PEOPLE IN THE HUNT
I MIGHT NOT LOOK YOU IN THE EYES
BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN
I DON’T LIKE WHAT I SEE
I MIGHT FORGET WHAT YOU TELL ME
BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN
I DIDN’T HEAR THE WORDS LOUD
I JUMP HIGH
FALL DEEP
IN RAPID REPETITION
DOPAMIN DROPS DEAD
VERY FAST
THE STIMULATIONS ARE FEW
TOO MANY
PLEASE DON’T ASK ME
TO SIT
WHEN I SLEEP
MY FOCUS IS INTENSE
MY INVESTMENT FRAGILE
I SEE IT
AS AN INSULT
WHEN YOU SAY
A
D
H
D
ALL DUDES HAVE THE DIAGNOSE
IT’S NOT INCLUSIVE
SORRY
I WILL HAVE TO STOP
DOPAMIN DROPS
I WILL REGRET TOMORROW
IF I REMEMBER TODAY.
psycho-somatic
my balance
is it here
or
is it there
do I make it real
whats between my head
and heart
nerves fueled by anxiety
runs alone
no trace of stability
it hurts
but it feels safe
the power of pain
Lucid
Jeg drømmer lucide drømme. Jeg drømmer vildt og springer dybt. Jeg stønner efter vejret og arbejder mod mine lungers kraft. Ingen skal bestemme over mig. Ingen. Jeg er fri i min egen strøm. Bundet på hænder og på fødder. Bevæger jeg mig derhen, hvor jeg vil. Lige der. Netop lige der. Jeg er fri. Jeg smiler bredt og springer endnu en gang. Hopper hen mod kanten med samlede ben og lukkede arme. Springer. Springer endnu en gang. Hvem samler mig op? Ingen. Der findes ingen med en sådan kraft. Jeg kæmper mod tyngdekraften. Bliver blå på albuer og knæ. Det pynter på min blege krop. Blåt på hvidt. Hvidt på blåt. Står jeg dér igen og kigger ned. Tremor over hele kroppen. Synet. Synet af frihed. Jeg ånder dybt. Venter ikke på brystkassens svar. Jeg springer atter en gang lige i favnen på det, der venter. Overraskelsen. Ingen ved, hvad det næste er. Hvem der kommer, hvem der bliver, hvem der går. Frihed. Jeg lander hårdt denne gang. Forkert vinkel. Det bliver ordentligt blåt. Næsten sort. Jeg ler stille for mig selv. Er dét det folk kalder skræk? Har jeg formået at forskrække mig selv? Jeg kaster mig hurtigere op, end jeg nogensinde har gjort. Ignorere let smerten bag sternum. Rebet om skindebenene krasser rødt. Det gør intet. Snart er jeg fri igen. Jeg kaster mig en sidste gang.