Monday, April 24th, 2017

zimena: Cross-country skier Johannes Høsflot Klæbo looking even more gorgeous than usual. (Scenery - Sundown)
Back from a two-day trip to Denmark/Germany. Well, to be honest we stayed in Denmark, and only visited Germany for a few hours of shopping just across the border. That still counts as the first visit outside Scandinavia this year, though.

I'm very tired now (it's 2am, and I got home a bit after midnight), but in short: Traveling is always great. Getting home safely and getting to sleep in my own bed is also great, so I'm gonna do that now.
zimena: A stack of books (Misc - Books)
Time for another poem. This is about certain things from my childhood, from kindergarten-age and up to I was about 12 years old. I don't know why, but this form of poetry seems to make me want to write out various forms of pain and frustration - even this, which is something I thought I had buried in the depths of memory many years ago. When I started trying to shape it into a poem, the words practically just fell out, though. Maybe it's a good thing; I don't know.

Childhood memories

A sensitive kid,
A thinker,
Repeatedly being told
That thinking is dangerous,
Makes you crazy,
And should be avoided.
There’s no sense in that
To someone
Whose thoughts are never quiet.

A young child
Already an old soul.
Wanting meaningful friendship,
Rather than momentary fun.
Preferring to talk to adults,
Needing trust, safety, and
Having already learned that
I couldn’t have that with
Kids my own age.

A schoolgirl
Unable to relate to other kids
An easy target, for being
Different in too many ways.
Six years of school
An endless memory of fear.
"If I can’t stay home today,
how about tomorrow
or the day after tomorrow?"

I’ve had
School supplies broken.
Just for having something unusual
And too cool, for such an uncool kid.
Then my teacher told me
That I did that myself.
Just because she never saw what happened.
And surely, siding with the bullies
Is what teachers do
Because there’s no 

Bullying in our school, mind you.

There were always too much
Physical evidence, if they had only bothered
To open their eyes.
I’ve been kicked through a window,
Gone to the doctor to remove
Little pieces of broken glass from my hand
Because I tried to protect myself.
Yet, the official explanation
Behind that incident
Was that someone unfortunately
Kicked a football into the window.

The only thing they ever gave me
Was an official report claiming that
I failed to integrate with other kids,
And in fact, said other kids
Deserved praise
For dealing so well with such a
Strange and difficult person.
Without bullying or hatred.

Blindness knows no limits.
And all I have from that time is
A paper claiming I wasn’t bullied,
And a scarred soul carrying
Proof of everything else.

September 2017

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