Ghosts have found a home
wrapped around my throat
and I can’t breathe.
that’s where they’re most
comfortable; that’s where
I expect them to be.
it’s testing time;
these are testing times
if you are haunted like me.
I have made friends with
my ghosts and they understand
my thoughts. They float inside
my head. There are ghosts
resting on my chest,
juggling with my breath and
I can’t catch it.
They won’t let me near it.
I am playing piggy in the middle
with my ghosts and it makes me
too tired to be fired up,
too tired but still I am reaching out to
try to catch my breath; I am
reaching out for someone who is
haunted like me.
It’s Friday night and I’m at home drinking whisky and watching my favourite TV show, The Last Leg. And I’m thinking about why I love it so much.
Last week I was lucky enough to have tickets to go and see the show being filmed live. My partner and I went along, and we had so much fun. I can’t wait until the next season opens up for applications so I can request tickets again – it’s the best thing I’ve done all summer, and considering I visited Sweden, the Canaries, and went on a hot air balloon ride, that makes The Last Leg pretty awesome.
I hold a deep love for October:
the beginning, the constant.
the cosy warmth swaddling us
against the fast-approaching winter.
October is orange in the trees, orange
falling to the ground, orange
lighting up the sky.
Carving out contentment in pumpkins
for the very first time. Singing and
dancing and carefree, slippers and
dressing gowns, excitement entangled
in comfort and certitude.
I left a piece of myself in Gothenburg,
and I couldn’t find it in the signs at Heathrow.
Nothing was written in beautiful Swedish,
just in the boring English I already know.
I tried to bring pieces of Gothenburg home –
a backpack full of Kex bars and Ballerina biscuits;
a blue and yellow t-shirt; socks declaring
‘I heart Sweden’; novelty fridge magnets.
But the soft toy moose on the refrigerator
reminds me that sometimes you’re not moving on
to bigger and better things – sometimes
you’re just plain old moving on.
Because there is nothing bigger and nothing better
than the places you adore,
your passions and the dreams you hold –
they’re what’s worth living for.
So one day I will visit again,
I’ll go back when I’m more fluent.
There’s still so much the city can teach me,
I’ll always be a willing student.
And that’s what I said to the wing of the plane
as I tried not to be sad about leaving,
watching the lush green city getting smaller,
trying so hard to clutch onto Sweden.
I got home from my trip to Gothenburg on Friday. I didn’t want to leave. Coming back to England felt so wrong, and far too early. But it was awesome, and if I were to dedicate this poem to anyone I would dedicate it to Pewdiepie, because his videos inspired me to learn Swedish, and to visit Sweden, and he gave me a whole new passion for learning a language and visiting a new country. I’m so grateful for that. <3 *brofist*
