top of page
The Glass Child.jpg

THE GLASS CHILD

CHARLOTTE ERIKSSON

  • Instagram - White Circle
  • Amazon - White Circle
  • Twitter - White Circle
  • 6c4d6c_6a3cbd41bdca49b8b0e31b1854f6891f.png
  • Tumblr - White Circle
  • YouTube - White Circle
  • Pinterest - White Circle
  • TikTok

Author.  Songwriter. Dreamer. Wanderer.

THE GLASS CHILD

CHARLOTTE ERIKSSON

  • Instagram - White Circle
  • Amazon - White Circle
  • Twitter - White Circle
  • 6c4d6c_6a3cbd41bdca49b8b0e31b1854f6891f.png
  • Tumblr - White Circle
  • YouTube - White Circle
  • Pinterest - White Circle
  • TikTok

Author.  Songwriter. Dreamer. Wanderer.

Books like melancholy and gin

Prose and poetry books on hope, healing, growing up, loneliness, and learning how to bloom in solitude.

Drunk on someone else's love


Charlotte Eriksson Books You're Doing Just Fine

5am

again,

drunk on someone else’s love,

or couch,

and I’ve never felt more at home.


I fled myself,

from the life I’ve built

because I’ve been inhabiting routines I don’t want to stand for.

Inhabiting skin I’d rather shed

but still took on

like a soldier serving his country,

for that’s what they told me to do.

But I was not

strong

or wise,

but young and foolish,

for what is this thing? Trading passions for a tiny bit of acceptance,

and I am not a Sunday morning inside four walls

with clean blood

and organised drawers.

I am the hurricane setting fire to the forests

at night when no one else is alive,

or awake,

however you choose to see it,

and I live in my own flames.

Sometimes burning too bright and too wild

to make things last

or handle

myself or anyone else

and so I run.

Run run run,

far and wide

until my bones ache and lungs split

and it feels good.

Hear that, people? It feels good,

because I am the slave and ruler of my own body

and I wish to do with it exactly as I please,

and living in this skin is hard and painful, most of the times, because I never volunteered to take this on. The daily sacrifice of heart over mind,

the forever on going task of explaining this and that,

and why I don’t want to look like this and

be like that

but still here I am and if this is the body I’ve been given I’m sure as hell gonna make it work.

If this is the place I’ve been given, I’m sure as hell gonna make this work.


So I fled the me that was never really me and I’m on my way.

To newer lands and uncleaned streets

for I’ve had enough of childish safety in comfort.

Enough of all telling me to look and do, like this and that,

and I never meant to please anyone but myself

and you can call me selfish,

throw words like knives in the dark

but I will not listen,

for not listening to sharp words

brought me to where I am today

and I believe in the path I’ve been given.

If my only task in this life is to walk it,

I surely will walk it

prouder than anyone else.


If this is the path I’ve been given,

I will walk it

prouder than anyone else,

for no one else can.



Want to read some more poetry?



Comments


bottom of page