Venom

ur Diktsamling: Furious Fire Of Pridefilled Blood

”I might have the Rook
But your chains still trap me to this day
Sometimes when i’m gazing at its light
The Rook becomes a sharp pain
Because i’m holding it
I know how to maneuver it
I’m protected from other people
But they’re not the only threat anymore
I am

You’re a monster slowly killing yourself
You always want to be right
You refuse to acknowledge your flaws
You’re a hypocrite
A liar
And in the sick universe we live in
My biological grandfather

Your grasp is like a virus
It can’t be cured
It can only be prevented
It’s just that nobody cared enough
To actually try to protect me from it
Like a child of an anti-vaxxer
Whose parent refused to immunize
Setting the child up for life-long illness
Life-long trauma
Just because nobody cared enough
To prevent it
Nobody cared enough
To protect me from your harsh grip
So now i’m infected with your sickness
Your pride
Your virus
Your programming can’t survive alone
It needs to be planted
But as soon as it’s stuck onto a braincell
It doesn’t need any nurturing
In order to keep the infection spreading
It only needs a host to cling to
Your virus and programming
Both mold into a thick and sick venom
A venom i’ve been stuck in all my life
And you may die
But your venom won’t
It’ll keep voiding the air in my lungs
Until i die along with you

That kid was not your puppet
That kid was not a doll
That kid was never meant to be perfect
Nobody and nothing
Is meant to be perfect
That child was your family
Your granddaughter by blood
And you killed her off

That girl was not your diamond
That girl was not a surgical project
That girl was never meant for leverage
No human being
Should be subjected to the way
That you made her a scapegoat
Made her trash
Made her into nothing
Nothing more than an excuse
So you could abuse your daughter
That girl was human
Cute just the way she was
The way a pre-teen is supposed to look
But you killed her off

You had no right
The only way to repent
From all your sick and twisted abuse
Of me and your daughter
Is to die against your will
Just like that child was forced to do
And i would’ve loved
To deliver you that fate
But i didn’t
And it’s been my biggest regret
Ever since i made the choice not to
A lifetime in jail
Or an excrutiating death
All of it would be worth it
Just for a man like you
To no longer live
No price is too big
All devastation would be worth it
As long as i’d gotten to kill you
Smolder you with the pillow
Until your lungs collapse
Stab you until you’re nothing
But a stain on the sheets
Burn your bed and home to ashes
And finally breathe in
The smoke of blissful vengeance

You’re an immature brat
Hiding in a tragic womans body
You refuse to acknowledge your flaws
You’re a hypocrite
A coward
And in the sick universe we live in
My mother

Your grip no longer frightens me
I know my defense is more fatal
Than any of your attacks
Yet the damage you did
While your grip terrified me to my core
I can never forget
And i was a fool
For wanting to believe i could
But the pride of your father
The sickness of your dad
And the venom of the monster
The venom running through his veins
Runs through your veins as well
Runs through my veins as well
And while you choose to harbor it
Choose to savour it
To defend it
Protect it
His venom will belong to you as well
Cling to your blood
And contain the infection within you
The infection you will keep spreading
Amongst yourself but also to me
You’re trapped
So you trap me
But only i see the chains
His venom is your venom
Your venom is his venom

That kid was not your clay
That kid was not your prisoner
That kid was never meant to be molded
She was not meant to be
Under your utter control
She was supposed to find herself
With your help and guidance
Not just your demands for obedience
That child was your family
Your daughter
And you killed her off

That girl was not your punching bag
That girl was not your scapegoat
That girl was trying her absolute best
And she needed you to acknowledge it
Not invalidate it
She was not a liar
She never truly was
You made her a liar before she was one
You painted her as a bad person
Before she actually had become one
That girl was human
She tried her best
She loved you
But you killed her off

You had no right
I wish you could feel my pain
I wish you could suffer
The consequences of your actions
Instead of me
Because i didn’t commit them
You did
But you get to ignore them
You get to try to escape them
But i don’t
You’re not limited by them as i am
The only way to atone for your sins
Is to suffer like i did
To meet the eyes of that little child
Lock gaze with her
See the terror and agony in her soul
And finally give her the truth
The answer
As to why you killed her off
Why you had so much distain for her
I want you to look me in the eyes
And tell me why
Mother
Tell me why
Why i was never truly good enough
Why i was never worth protecting
Why my pain was never valid to you
Why my desperate trying
Was never real enough to you
Tell me why
That monsters approval
Is worth so much more
Than my safety
Give me the answers
That i’ve been frantically searching for
Tell me what made me so horrible
So difficult to love
Tell me why i’m worthless
Speak the words
That i’ve always known are true
You are simply too weak
To be a good mother
You are simply not strong enough
To protect me
You are simply too crass and pathetic
To see the truth
Let me finally have the satisfaction
Of hearing you admit it

You both robbed me
Of the comfort and confidence
The love and passion
Of my beloved sport
I can spend hours in the stable
And hours on horseback
Finish all kinds of duties and chores
Groom a thousand horses
Jump a thousand obstacles
Gallop a thousand miles per hour
Manage a thousand dressage moves
But i’ll still leave unfulfilled
With a painful pit in my stomach

I could be the best
But it can’t make me happy
Only relieved and calm
But never happy
Because the second
That i’m not the best i can humanly be
Everything shatters
My self-confidence
My sense of self-worth
My calm
Everything

I can’t just do it out of pure passion
I do it out of compulsion
I’ve done it out of pure compulsion
Because you told me i couldn’t quit
You told me i had to do better
All the time
You taught me that i was worthless
If i wasn’t doing well enough
You taught me that my only worth
Was my ability to succeed
You were only truly kind
When i was good enough
If i wasn’t
You became a rough snark
Like i was an embarrasment

So now i’m controlled by your shame
I can’t say certain words
I can’t deliver certain messages
I can’t ask certain questions
I can’t do certain things
The shame you planted controls me
Even when i don’t feel it
It haunts my every breath

I’m trapped in fury and terror
Trapped in agony
I’m controlled by you
I’m your puppet
Your venom needs no feeding
In order to survive
It infects and taints
Without the need of further command
It floods my blood
And invalidates my very being
It drowns my whole body
And gnaws at me until i’m nothing
The venom fills my veins
And bleeds out ink
Forming surgical marks
And words all over my body

Your claws are sunken deep into me
Even years later
The shame controls me
Holds me down
Forces me to continue being jarred
By the ways i hurt myself
Keeps me in the compulsive cycle
Of cleaning up blood
Of popping burn blisters
Of spitting up acid
Of fainting on an empty stomach
Picking myself apart
In order to be worth something
Breaking myself into pieces
Trying to put them back in better places
In the places you wanted them to be in
All while staring into the Eye Of Eternity
With the futile question
That maybe
If i could’ve been good enough for you
In the past
I might’ve been good enough
For myself
In the present

I can’t escape seeing them before me
The lost woman
Terrorized by the ghost of a father
Beside her fragile pre-teen daughter
Desperately wanting it to be over
The little kid without a say
That wasn’t ever truly good enough
Whose worth belonged to superiors
Making her inherently worthless
On her own
I hate myself
For every similarity with her
So i destroy myself
In desperate attempts
To not be what you taught me i was
I can’t accept that child
As who i grew up from
I’m not her
I can’t be

I am forever 7 years old
Carrying the blame of the monster
I am forever 8 years old
Begging God to fix me
To cleanse me
To forgive me for being a filthy sinner
I am forever 9 years old
Crying in my dads arms
About how i don’t know if i want to live
You did that
You destroyed me
Yet you still expect me to thrive
Still expect me to forget
To forgive what can’t be healed
You want me to forget what you did
But your venom limits me to nothing
Even today
And although i keep going
Trying to be better
Know
That the blood between my fingers
Spilled from your venom
And my bloody handprints
Came from yours”

När orden lägger sig kvar som ett eko i kroppen blir det tydligt hur diktens språk inte bara berättar en historia utan också bär en långvarig inre verklighet där minne, smärta och identitet flätas samman i något som inte längre går att separera utan att samtidigt riva upp hela den väv som personen försöker stå kvar i. Det finns en genomgående rörelse i texten där “giftet” inte bara är en metafor utan också ett sätt att beskriva hur påverkan från andra människor kan fortsätta existera långt efter att själva handlingarna är över, som om något osynligt fortfarande rör sig genom blodet och formar tankens riktning utan att fråga om lov.

Det som blir särskilt påtagligt är hur relationerna i dikten inte framställs som enkla konflikter utan som djupt sammanflätade system av makt, skuld och emotionell förvrängning där barnet aldrig riktigt får vara barn, utan istället pressas in i roller som inte är möjliga att bära utan att spricka inifrån. När rösten i dikten gång på gång återkommer till bilden av det lilla barnet som “aldrig var tillräcklig” eller “aldrig fick vara sig själv” blir det som en ständig påminnelse om hur formande och destruktiv vuxenvärldens spegling kan vara när den inte rymmer ömhet, utan bara krav och villkorad kärlek.

Samtidigt finns det en slags dubbelhet i texten där ilska och sorg existerar parallellt utan att ta ut varandra, snarare förstärker de varandras tyngd. Ilskan blir inte bara ett uttryck för vrede utan också ett försök att återta något som gått förlorat, medan sorgen inte enbart handlar om det som hänt utan också om det som aldrig fick möjlighet att bli. I denna växelverkan uppstår en känsla av instängdhet, som om det inre landskapet saknar utvägar och bara fortsätter cirkulera kring samma minnen, samma frågor, samma obearbetade smärtpunkter.

När hästsporten träder in i texten förändras perspektivet till något som nästan liknar en paradox, där något som borde vara en plats för frihet och passion istället förvandlas till ännu en arena för prestation och kontroll. Det blir tydligt hur en människa kan fortsätta utföra något med skicklighet och disciplin, men samtidigt förlora kontakten med den inre glädjen som en gång gjorde handlingen meningsfull, eftersom varje rörelse redan är färgad av en inlärd känsla av otillräcklighet. Det är inte längre hästen, ridningen eller rörelsen i sig som bär glädjen, utan snarare ett försök att undvika den känslomässiga kollaps som väntar i frånvaron av perfektion.

I den senare delen av dikten fördjupas bilden av ett arv som inte är valt men ändå bärs vidare, där “giftet” inte bara tillhör en individ utan blir något som förs genom generationer och relationer som om det vore en osynlig struktur av beteenden och sår. Det skapar en särskild sorts fångenskap där den som berättar både är offer och bärare, både den som blivit skadad och den som tvingas leva med spåren av skadan i varje försök att forma ett eget jag. Det gör att identiteten inte längre känns stabil utan snarare fragmenterad, som om den ständigt försöker skilja sig från något som samtidigt inte går att lämna bakom sig.

Till sist återstår en sorts stilla tyngd som inte riktigt söker lösning utan snarare förståelse, där frågorna om varför aldrig får enkla svar eftersom de inte kommer ur logik utan ur relationella sår som formats över tid. Det som blir kvar är en människa som försöker existera i spänningsfältet mellan det som varit och det som fortfarande påverkar, där varje steg framåt också bär en skugga av det som en gång definierade vad det innebar att vara värd något i andras ögon. Och kanske är det just där dikten stannar, i den svåra insikten att vissa spår inte försvinner, men ändå måste bäras utan att få bestämma hela riktningen för det liv som fortfarande pågår.