Sanat ovat enemmän kuin ihmeiden siemeniä. Kirjoittamalla voit muuttaa maailma.
Heather by Liljoja, literature
Literature
Heather
In your sadness you are close to the thing that makes everything beautiful, the thing that makes actions count; a purpose, which would otherwise be lost in the vastness of it all. You are not alone either. The truth is held with wavering hands by many, the scared wide eyes of passerbys matching yours with a plea “I don’t want it to end”. You are worrying about tomorrows which aren’t even tomorrows yet and I wonder how that must feel to love something so much and oh so painfully. This is the feeling which shows me you are a child in a way I think I have never been and that is something bright and wonderfully alive. Your soul feels younger than mine and I like how we just accepted that as fact. Honey, you are living up to your own words: “I’m not going to grow up”. The world does not care and ticks along ruthlessly. You want to break unbending rules with something as fine and young as hope. That might just be the bravest thing I know.
2019
i have almost cried 5 times today
the feeling swelling up just under my eyes
rising from the ribcage
past the beating heart and into the view
blurry and glimmering
on other days i might cry because of the injustice
or the hurt
or the memories long gone, and the buried
but on days like these, you cry for the wonder
for the sheer magic of this world and how you are experiencing it
not experiencing it
should you be experiencing it?
you are experiencing it
and so are all the others
going forward day by day
i have felt like a machine these past few days
and it has felt good
taking things in;
turning them around in my hands, observing
taking
2017
I know my soul exists.
I have felt its presence,
but it has become so comfortable
it has fuzed with this bubble i call my life.
Somehow, among the stories I mindlessly consume, the idea of writing flowed back in.
It reminded me of how it used to be without the safe guard.
Boundless.
And so I start to write inside my bubble.
It is getting bigger.
I have to see colours again,
even the painful shades of yellow that can make you fly.
The dusty blue hues must wash away
and mix to become green,
the colour of new things.
The first few leaves are thin.
They need rich black soil to grow,
but you can't make that without the colour red.
Maybe
Why I (Will) Love You (When I Meet You)
2017
Take my blind eyes
and give me pen and paper,
an envelope and some time.
I will paint you forests upon oceans
and sandcastles out of oyster shells,
beaches made of letters
for you to walk on.
I'll name you 10 thousand different names
and place you between every word.
Be gentle with my bleeding hands.
The ink will only flow if the flowers have their roots
deep in my veins.
Turn my blind eyes into sapphires
and wear them as your crown jewels.
You have earned them.
After all those flowers and gemstones
you won't get greedy.
Time won't turn them into pebbles in your hands
because you se
2017
Somebody has laid me down in funeral shrouds.
It’s a peaceful place made for sleep.
Layers of lace and silk wrap me in and only my face breaks the surface.
Even the air has a texture, almost as soft as the silk.
My body has dissolved in this cocoon of sleep
but there are edges to this coffin. They are hugging in a little too close.
I cannot stop thinking of all the dust I must be breathing in.
I dream of hospital beds
where I lay like red and blue paint against a white canvas.
Cracked ribs sing to me with every hungry breath
and I know there is something bleeding like a tap dripping.
Dripping where no one can see
but I can hear
I'm Still Young Enough to Know Everything by Liljoja, literature
Literature
I'm Still Young Enough to Know Everything
2014
I see people with bleeding knees and scarred wrists
and they tell me I cannot write if I have not fallen.
“Words won’t rest on your skin
without any cracks to cradle them.”
And I show them my hands
palms up and empty.
2014
There once was a beautiful monster. Nobody knew where he came from. He was found from the mire, moss fragments on his flawless skin.
Nothing you did could ever kill him. All the marks would show but he never died. You could take a blade and cut him. The gash would bleed but then turn to a trickle and stop.
People were intrigued by him. He was beautiful. They tried to be nice to him, to let him in, but in the end there were always weapons in their hands. Some asked if they could hurt him. Others did so without permission. He was a monster after all.
The monster found love. The woman looked at his glimmering blue eyes, took a knife and
2014
Darling
as in dead languages spoken
your name echoes in my room
hollow walls keep no secrets
and I hold your tiny hands in mine
among the blue roses
and sometimes I find stories in the corners
hardly breathing
and I speak to them until they
find their wings again and fly away
but between the lines I find happiness
2013
You are so pale
I fear losing the sight of you.
Your trapped animal gaze
makes people insecure and brutal
to your bird bone manners.
They don’t wait for whispered explanations or
sign language.
I see through you like water,
an ocean,
your aquarium chest and little goldfish heart.
How can they disregard that?
You are brilliant, a symphony
a stellar cacophony of sound
so silent.
I hope to hold your hand.
You are so pale
I fear you’ll dissolve.
I fear that you'll let the night seep in
and when I close my eyes
I’ll have to question myself.
Are you even real?
The Words That Came Before Him by Liljoja, literature
Literature
The Words That Came Before Him
2013
He fell in love with a girl who painted her nails green.
When he asked her why, she said it was their natural colour.
She wore clothes like she didn’t care what was in
and she most certainly was not.
She wove feathers in her hair,
a hippie girl in summer clothes,
at winter a cocoon.
She didn’t believe in things like love or lust.
The only hunger she knew was the hunger for words.
She lived by the rules of literature
Like a poem: anyway she wanted.
Her skin was soft and dry and comforting
like the pages she memorized.
Her lips were cracked
and he watched them
and tried to master the language
they spilled so fluently.
He