Letter to my unborn child

To my unborn child:
There is no reason.
There`s too many.
Want to be free,
want to be wild.
Like you would be,
had you been born
and lived with me,
grown in my arms.
If you breathed…
I‘d care for you,
I‘d hold you
and I‘d love you so…
so much.
Right the first second that I‘d touch
your tiny little face
– But trust:
You wouldn‘t like to live this age
of consumption,
greed and hate.
And I would die
deep down inside
seeing you cry
as much as I
did in despair
about this world.
Oh, it‘s not fair…
I‘ll never hold you, little bear…
Not let you suffer,
couldn‘t bare
to hear your questions,
see your stare.
-“Why Mommy, why?…”
-“‘Cause we fucked up”
Humanity has quickly dug
its grave.
And I don‘t want to tuck
you in its sheets.
Oh baby please, forgive my greed.
But I can‘t have you,
I can‘t see
the things that you‘ll be going through…
…So now sleep tight.
My baby blue.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth

Stream of consciousness

Truth is that I have fallen.
Truth is I often don’t know what I want.
Truth is that mostly I am lost.
Truth is sometimes I need to fight to keep on going on.
Truth is I am a rather calm stone in a messy stream of water but
Truth is I sometimes get caught in a stronger current.
Truth is I need to keep on losing mind and my direction ’cause
Truth is if not, I would get caught in it without an end.
Truth is I tend to give my heart away without precaution ’cause
Truth is I care too much about the other.
Truth is I tend to lastly give myself away ’cause
Truth is I hardly see my own worth -but that of a loved one.
Truth is I am aware and learning but it’s painful.
Truth is I see the pain in everyone.
Truth is I feel the fear and all the sadness
that every single one has undergone.
Truth is I try to fix the wounds with my love.
Truth is I wished that I could hold you all.
Truth is I wished I had the power
to heal the massive pain that’s in the world.
Truth is that everyone of us does suffer.
Truth is some are aware and know, some don’t.
Truth is I am too weak to keep on watching
the hate and anger coming as the pain’s results.
Truth is I also sometimes hate people.
Truth is I love the ones who are sincere.
Truth is I sometimes hate myself for hating
the ones hating others out of fear.
Truth is the system did the biggest damage
to every single thing that’s been on earth.
Truth is that all existing struggle is
resulting from suppression coming from the 1st.
Truth is that we should all stick together
and help each other free ourselves and minds.
Truth is that’s the only way to freely love each other
and to evolve into a loving, caring kind.
Truth is I’ve kind of lost myself in writing.
Truth is there’s so much more that’s on my mind.
Truth is sometimes a flow of thoughts can be exciting.
Truth is that mostly it just hurts quite deep inside.

 

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth

 

Fishing for coin

Stop wishing
and give up control.
Stop fishing
for prices and goals.
Stop hunting
and trying with force
to change steps in life
that come from the source.
Don’t limit yourself
by choosing one way
– It might be your hell,
so know while you pray:
There are so many things
out there waiting for you
and YOU cannot see them.
Yes, you don’t have a clue.
You are a small piece of life
that is floating in truth
and because you’re inside
you have no point of view.
You will never find out
which one truth is for you.
– Until you walk past it
and it sticks to your shoe.
And focused on coin
you scowl at the gum
not seeing the bill
shriveled up in the sun.
It is right at your feet,
waiting to glue
and hold on to the gum
which you had on your shoe…
But disgusted by it
you had it removed,
not detecting the wealth
that was once meant for you…
So what can you do
to not end up so blue?
– Don’t limit yourself.
Be open for goo.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth

Addiction

I had to ask myself some questions,
looking straight into your eyes:
Where’s the start of a possession?
How to spot an addict’s lies?
How far does someone have to go;
How much one has to sacrifice
for getting on just ANY glow
to proof it’s more than just a vice?
I see all sorts of different faces
emerging from your deepest shades
and I don’t like them, nor the traces
they leave right where my heart’s in place.
They are so careless, cold and mean,
some crazy and dependent, vain.
That’s not the person I have seen,
who I am scared might not remain.
It makes me sad to see you so.
And honestly, I’m angry too.
I wonder if it’s time to go
or punch you right in your drunk face.

 

 

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth

Truth’s extinction

Yes, I’m lonely. Feel alone
though surrounded by billions.
Our race’s overgrown.
And therefore by pressure
so sadly we’re owned.
The fewest are true
-Most dead to the bone.
They don’t know themselves
and so they conform.
They’re striving for fame
and for money, the throne;
Cold-hearted and lying
-Into masks they transformed.
They’re working to live
but they’re living alone
to be better than others
’cause they think that’s the goal.
But where is the truth?
Where is the love?
Where is simplicity
seen as enough?
Where is the ease?
Where is the glee?
Where is the empathy?
Where is the peace?
Where are the people
longing for these?
Where are those people
-The people like me?
Where have they gone?
Do they still exist?
Or are they extinct
’cause they have been dismissed?
Oh, how much I wished
I knew where they hide!
So I can go live with them
-Leave the sorrow behind.
I’m longing for truth
-Which is so hard to find.
And to end being lonely
within “none-of-my-kind”.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Pia Petersson

London

City of the lonely,
How can someone live
when work is yet the only
love you’ve got to give?
Everyone is searching
for someone they can share
their souls with and their empathy
but you don’t seem to care.
They’re threatened by your cruelty,
All is what you need,
You’re kicking out half-hearted ones
as you’ve got just one speed.
It’s either all or nothing,
For love there is no space,
And that is what we sacrifice
to keep up with your pace.
Whoever can’t commit
to fully be your slave
will end up on the streets
or in someone else’s grave.
Say, why are you so cold?
How could you forget
that even the cold-hearted ones
will end up having debt
to their deepest needs,
The need to share some love,
The need to share one’s body
with another of their sort.
Why can’t you make a deal?
Why can’t you spare some time?
So people can go heal themselves
without being left behind?
So people can connect to you
and others just as well,
So people die in heaven
instead of living hell.

 

 

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Irene Muth

The System’s Victims

I can hear you’re sad my love,
I feel your resignation,
I understand the madness, love,
When everything’s stagnation.

I know just how you feel my love,
Your head in darkest thoughts,
Your life’s a big ordeal my love,
You’re waiting for the shot.

I see your face right here my love,
Your stare unmoved and dead.
The pain is so severe my love,
Brings mania to your head.

I know it steals your sleep my love,
You’re having endless nights,
Frustration’s going deep my love,
You cannot see the light.

I know you want it over, love,
There’s nothing else you cry out for,
But think about your lover, love,
I’m fighting the exact same war.

You’re all my happiness my love,
You’re all I’m looking forward to,
To share our loneliness my love,
Is all that makes me struggle through.

The thought of losing you my love,
Is tearing me apart,
I’d understand you though my love,
‘Cause death is a new start.

 

 

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Pia Petersson

Day off

Lethargically I lie in bed,
My eyes half way, stare at the cushion,
Keeping them wide needs too much pulling,
Keeping them closed asks too much pushing.
Nothing feels right, not this position,
Not on the side, not comfortable.
Don’t have the strength to start a mission
And find a spot acceptable.

So fucking tired but can’t sleep,
I feel too hot and feel too cold,
Think everything is what I need,
Feel nothing’s what I truly want.
My mouth hangs open, slowly breathing,
No muscle moving, not a thing,
Physically dead and mentally too,
I wished this was a Tuesday Blues.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Photography by Pia Petersson

Insomnia won

I for the iris my eyelid ignores.
N for the numbness my body brings forth.
S for the sleep that is laughing at me.
O for the organs waiting for relief.
M for the moon that is witnessing this.
N for the nose that is starting to twitch.
I for the inside that’s fighting for peace.
A for the anger my thoughts do release.

W for the waiting while wakening stays
O for the “Oh! I just drifted away!!”
N for the “Now! I am finally…”

 

A poem by Pia Petersson

Insomnia

Insomnia, you piece of shit,
You suck my energy.
Insomnia, you darkest pit,
You are my enemy.

Insomnia, you follow me,
I hate the way you stare.
Insomnia, I know you see,
My nerves are lying bare.

Insomnia, I hate you so,
I hate you so in vain.
Insomnia, please let me go,
Before I go insane.

A poem by Pia Petersson
Painting by Pia Petersson