Þetta er alveg eldgamalt ljóð sem ég samdi einhvern tíma þegar ég var geðveikt þunglynd…

I think I’m born to be a loser
I think I’m born to be a bitch
And don’t think I’ll cry because of you, sir
My wound only needs a little stitch.

I don’t care about you raping me,
I don’t care if it’s true or not.
I don’t know who I’m supposed to be…
-or perhaps I only forgot.

I was one of those girls who were good
One of those the future holds dear
But unlike any other girls in the hood
my life and soul were coloured with fear.

Each day at school was like hell
and for fear I hid in the shadows,
locked up my soul in a prison cell,
hiding away from my lows.

Perhaps it wasn’t the others
Perhaps it wasn’t just me
Perhaps not the fault of my mother’s
Perhaps not my dad’s ‘cause you see,

in the beginning I made a wrong choice,
picked a bad road to walk.
I didn’t listen to my inner voice,
didn’t notice it’s talk.

“He’s a bad fellow, this guy,
he’s only gonna break your heart.
He’s gonna leave you here to cry,
come on girl, try to be smart.”

But I didn’t listen to this voice of mine
and soon the damage was done
I lost touch with the divine
and hope shut my light that once shone.

But he didn’t just break my heart
and now I feel like a whore
He took advantage of another bodypart
and somehow I keep shouting for more…

It doesn’t matter if it’s love or if it’s sex
each way I’ll be hurt
I think it’s a curse or a hex
‘cause somehow I’m stuck in the dirt.

I tried to pull away from the shadows
I tried to draw closer to the light
but each time I fell and each time I rose
I realised that the light was too brigth

Perhaps I hoped for to much
sehn the next love came to my soul
‘cause in the end I hoped for another’s touch,
another one to make me whole

Along came others and along came lust
and along came sex and all that stuff
But I never forgot my broken truse
When you locked me to my bed with a handcuff

A reliving nightmare each day I wake
and each night I sleep is the same
My sexlife since then was only a fake
and I hid the truth under a face full of shame

Perhapse it doesn’t matter at all
at least not because of me
perhaps my summer was only a fall
perhaps not the light I thought it’d be

But my heart aches for the other
who’s victims became of your crime,
though I really don’t know if it bothers
to write you a poem in rhyme,

I want you to share my guilt
and say sorry to all those men,
who’s confidence I’ve both broken and built,
and you mine as well, since then.

I hope I’ll let o of the pain
and that this poem be the last one to you
so I can find a love, not to lose, but to gain,
Find a love that is finally true.