Poetry, Written Words

That time of the month

It’s that time of the month
when nothing seems to go my way

When my hopes and dreams
seem further away than before

When the light is broken
and darkness surrounds me

It’s that time of the month
when getting up is harder
than falling asleep

When one word
can turn into tears
and one problem 
turn to a million

I see no end to this
but know it will be over
before the week ends

I see no solution
but know possibilities 
and happiness
awaits in the morning

That time will pass soon
this time will be great
and control will be in my reach
once more

Poetry, Written Words

Mirror

A mirror is like looking into a persons soul.
Their expression when they find one, will tell you everything you need to know.
Their mood, happiness and feelings, are measured by how that person in the mirror stares back at them. Are they happy? Sad? Fat? Thin?
A lot can be said about that person. A lot of words can be screamed. Not nice, not useful. Anything goes.

When I look into the mirror I stare. I stare for minutes, sometimes for hours. I look for answers. If the mirror can't tell me what's wrong, then no one can. If the mirror can't make me smile, then no one can.

I have tried loving it. Hating it. Breaking it.. but they're everywhere. Glass, water, reflections. They follow me around.
Look here, look there, I'm back again. Love me, notice me, look at me.

And I do. I go back every time hoping something has changed. Hoping something is new and better. But it never is. I guess I'll just have to live with it and smile back. Hoping.

It will all be okay.

Karoline's Blog, Written Words

I need a scratch map of the countries I’ve kissed

I have a things for foreigners. It’s a thing. It’s a fact. Let’s not dwell on it and start calling each other names. I know I’m not the only one. I just really don’t see what’s so special or fun about being with someone from your own country. I mean, they look like you, grew up like yo and know the same cultural references and traditions as you.

Nah, not for me. I like a little action. A bit excitement. Someone who can surprise me and say stuff like: “No we don’t use Christmas trees for Christmas haha. We use this plant.” See, that would be fun! I could learn something new about the world and broaden my horizon.

I absolutely love talking about Denmark. Everybody who’s met me while I’m abroad would know this. And deep down I think people like to hear about our silly popstars and weird food fetishes. Maybe they don’t, but I love telling them about it anyway. And I get so fascinated to hear someone else talk with such passion about their home country. So why shouldn’t I find someone to tell me about it.

So what is it about these foreigners lips that draw me closer to them each and every time. Is it the accent? The language? The looks? Who knows.

If we’re being really honest, it might just be because they’re far away and I know it won’t last for long. That way I can’t get my heart broken… Just kidding. It will happen either way.  It might even be worse this way.
Side note: A positive thing is that you’ll never bump into him while drunk or on your way home from the gym, because he’s so far away. And isn’t that a great thing!

I know I’ll end up with someone from another country. It’s going to be difficult and stupid but I have a feeling that’s how it’ll be. And I can’t do anything about it.

 

 

 

Karoline's Blog, Written Words

Clubbing frees your soul

Going into the place, I had forgotten what I was getting into. Where I was going. The bouncers lifts the velvet string that gives me acces to the wonder of this place.

I hand over my jacket to the 18 year old cloak-check girl, wondering how many of the bartenders she has kissed. The music is bouncing from the other room, readying me for the purpose of the night. I look down my dress. A simple high necked flower dress and high plump heels. The kind of clothes, I would wear on a monday, but the heavy load of make-up, makes viewers sure it’s the weekend. My eyelids feel heavy with the 5 layers of black mascara, put on to impress the men in the room.

The doors open up and I walk confidently like a gazelle into the zoo we call a nightclub.  My eyes flicker from side to side. I am the princess, he is the prince. Only here are no princes, only loud music and smoke making my eyes cry. There is no sincerity, only shouting words and cheap drinks. We all walk naked with clothes on, trying to steal someones attention, if only for a few hours. We’re all pretending to be something we’re not. Single, a smoker, a dancer, adventurous. We’re all trying on a life, that doesn’t quite fit, but we have to squeeze into it anyway.

I’ve seen this. Believed it. Loved it. Lived it. I was them. My eyes were closed as I kissed a new victim of my empty stare, name to be forgotten in the morning or never heard. Never cared about it, just did it, because it’s part of our normality in this society of alcoholics and social animals. We love to pretend and fake and repeat weekend after weekend.

Is it really that bad? Are we really so miserable. No. We’re numb. We numb ourselves with vodka shots, so we forget the pain we feel deep down. Heartbreak, lonesome, caught in a moment, unhappy. We’re all trying to tell ourselves we’re fine. We all feel free and happy while dancing to the top 20 charts till 4 am.
In the morning we know what we are. We know how we truly feel. But gosh, it just feels so great at that moment in time. That moment when we shake our heads to the rhythm in time with our heartbeats, reminding us we’re alive and happy. Those times when we lock eyes with something real and start to believe again. When we are moved by emotions or actions, that has nothing to do with this moment.

Clubbing is terrible and great. It’s amazing.

You just have to close your eyes and numb your brain.

 

 

 

Short Stories, Written Words

21+22

He was the kind of guy I’d seen in movies. The type that hates everything, uses intelligent words and has a special bond with David Lynch. I felt fascinated and cultivated when I hung out with him.
We met on a friday. It was cold outside and I was waiting to pick up my family from the airport. They were coming to visit me on my semester abroad in Toronto. Our eyes met and I knew it right away. I would fall hard this time. I smiled, knowing he would smile back. He did. After class I waiting outside for him, wanting to introduce myself. “How did your quiz go?” Casual talk, with sex on our minds.

His name was Aidan. I was his Carrie. He picked me up after school on a Wednesday. It was our first date. My family had left and I was free as a bird. Free to explore all the perks of being a tall, blonde and beautiful Danish girl studying abroad. He told me stories of people I had never heard of, and made me feel cool. Walking next to him and his guitar made me feel powerful, inspired, accepted. The museum was crowded and so were our thoughts. I had to impress him, but words like unicorn and Taylor Swift kept popping up, proving how different we were.

Our first kiss was in High Park. We were high. I was flying, he was grounded. I couldn’t believe the beauty of his eyes, locking me in right then and there and never allowing me to forget them.

That was it. Sometimes that’s all it takes for two people to find each other. Mutual fascinations, young creative minds and a decision to be loved. He kissed me bye near the lockers. He called me and asked me to come over. He waved at my parents on skype and held me close all night long. Nothing could go wrong…

As the months passed we both changed our clothes, haircuts and interest. The dreaded date of my return drew closer. The days seemed longer as the feelings grew. I couldn’t take it.. I had to stay longer. Had to try it out, before I gave up and moved on to someone new. It had to be you.

With you I was a writer. With you I was a poet. Never before had I felt so confident and sure of myself. I could color my hair pink, blue and purple and you wouldn’t care. I could talk danish in my sleep and you still found me adorable. So I left my family behind to be with you. I gave up my entire life to be with you.

You had always been fond of weed. Had always woken up to the smell of weed and gone to sleep with it. You said you couldn’t function without, but I couldn’t quite comprehend. Then you had an audition. An audition with a drugtest. You were sure of yourself and confident you could do it.
Seeing you fall apart like that was heartbreaking. Seeing myself starting to care less was beautiful. I wanted happiness. I choose positivity. I was the sun to your dark clouds and without me you would be lost. No money, no purpose, no inspiration.
You lost a part of yourself in those days. Lost that special edge I had been so drawn to. I suddenly saw what you were really saying. Suddenly heard the words coming out of your mouth. They made no sense. They didn’t add up. You talked about adventures but locked yourself into your room. You talked about inspiration, but only got it when you were off in a different world. You talked about your heroes but refused to see them for who they really were.

It’s funny about stereotypes. We all hate them. We all like to believe, we don’t fit into a tiny box of adjectives. But we do. So very much. Especially the ones who say they “can’t be categorized”. Who says they’re “complicated” and “feel like they don’t belong in this world”. Those are the worst ones. The easiest to spot.
You fit in like a shoebox in a missing spot. You hit the type right on. Maybe that’s why I liked you. Because you reminded me of those hipster, indie movies. Because you were so far from my reality. I really did like you Aidan. I loved you. I idolized you. Maybe that’s why it was bound to happen. Bound to fall apart.

In the months after I left the country we barely talked. We had said we didn’t want to be tied down, but we were only lying to ourselves. We talked about the future and I believed your words. Believed you, when you said you’d come to Copenhagen for me.
Words have the power to break you. They have the power to lie and make someone believe you. Ideas can fall apart and that’s what we did. We were an idea, that would never turn into reality. We were an exciting story to tell our grandchildren.

I was so in love. I was so naive. I don’t regret a thing and I know you don’t either. Now we’re words in a diary, notes in a song. Poetry in our own way.

Karoline's Blog, Written Words

Why do we always chase anything BUT our dreams

As I’m thinking about what I want to do with my life, I always seem to think of smart ways to get there, instead of just getting there.

“If I want to write a book, I must first be a presenter to get a following”.
– Says who???

While you’re chasing the wrong dream, you’re getting further away from the actual one. Why do we always think it’s a good idea to distract ourselves from our dreams and think they will be there later on. One day they will give up on you, if you don’t hang on to them. Give them attention, love and determination. They need to know they matter to you, otherwise why would you matter to them?

A classic thing is that we postpone it. Or believe we will achieve it somehow. “I don’t need to write, to be a writer” – Said no-one ever.

You have to feel deep down in your gut, if you feel good when you’re doing the thing you “want to do”. Otherwise what is the point. There’s no happiness in pursuing a tennis career if you hate tennis.

So why do we always avoid it. Or worse run away from our dreams.. What happens if we don’t achieve them? If someone else gets there before you? Or if you end up going in a completely different direction. Nothing. Nothing happens. But wouldn’t you rather live knowing that you tried, that you gave it your all?

I am not scared of a lot in this life. But I am super scared of telling people what I actually dream of. It’s much easier coming up with a lie. That way they won’t know you failed, cause they didn’t know your real dream. But let’s for a moment try to concentrate on you. Forget the outside world and what they think of you.

You’re too scared to try because you’re afraid to fail. It’s as simple as that. Not rocketscience. You would rather have succes in something than succes in nothing.

But maybe.. Just maybe. If you spend less time trying to achieve things you don’t want, or spend time on useless dreams, and actually go for the one. You just might make it!

So stop hiding in the shadows and go all in. Be you, or the “you”, you want to be. Be the person you deep down know you can be.

Poetry, Written Words

Inspiration

Sometimes inspiration hits you. Like water flowing in the air, hitting your face hard, harsh and heavy.

Waking you up to your true life, where you’re awake and aware.

Cautious of lies and liars walking around freely like criminals in the street.
Walking without a care, chewing gum and grinning.
Smiling because they know they hurt you.

The best thing they’ve done.  The worst thing they’ve done. I believe, I think, I am. But where and how and why.

Million of voices, but only you are there. I don’t know how to make it go away. I just know I have to act when it arrives. Just know I have to do, not not do.

You brought it back. Back to me. Back to life.

I am back.