Why I Write Music? Because it hurts not to.

 

I'm messy and I'm organized and I'm still trying to piece my own self together. I can't sleep at night because how could I close my eyes when there's a whole world out there, calling my name, waiting to be explored. I love intelligent conversations while laying on empty streets at 5am in the morning, and I love watching the sun rise over a world that is still asleep. I make mistakes and I mess up a lot, but I'm trying to learn how to be okay with that. Some days I couldn't care less about what all of you think about my art because this is my life and all I have. But then there are days when all I want is to be beautiful and good enough and someone to count on. Someone to like and love and believe in. I just really want to mean something to someone.

 

I believe in the future, for I have seen yesterday and I'm still alive. I laugh a lot and I believe in the beauty in small things, like the coffee in the morning with someone you love, road-trips to nowhere and oceans. I love people who are curious and careless, because I want to be curious and careless and even though I'm mostly guarded, mostly shy, what I really want is to hug every single person I meet and ask them a thousand questions about their definition of a life lived well and if they've ever been in love and how they could go on when that love disappeared, because I am struggling. People fascinate me because I can't seem to understand them, and they rarely understand me. The way they can live and breathe and simply be, when I can't even look myself in the mirror without questioning every line, every expression and people’s perception. I remember every single word from conversations and I have a whole box of unsent letters to myself and every person I've ever met.

 

When I was 18 I moved all on my own from my home in Sweden to London to become the person I wanted to be, and create a life that made me excited to wake up in the morning. After a year in solitude with my mind and my music, I packed light and spent a year homeless on the road, dedicating my life to my art and music, determined to tell the world about it. I went everywhere and nowhere. Spent nights on the concrete, had beautiful conversations with strangers and walked foreign streets every day. I learned how to build my home in my music and my art. When I sing or write, I'm not scared anymore. I just want to mean something to someone because every person I meet means the world to me and I just wish to belong. I just wish to be me and be loved for that. I believe that if you want something bad enough, you can always find a way to get it. I love challenges because I'm here to prove myself and other people wrong. I still don't know where I'm going, but I'm on my way, and I'm giving my life to this journey. My life is this journey. I wanted to turn my life into art, my very existence into a poem. It might not always be easy, but it will always be beautiful. 

I’m a completely independent artist, living all by myself with no other support than yours. If you find any comfort or hope in what I do, my music or my writings, please consider supporting me, in order to be able to keep doing this. To keep learning, creating, growing and sharing what I learn. Everything matters, between a coffee to a donation for my next album. 

I'm nothing alone 

CONTACT

Booking & PR: lisa@brokenglassrecords.se

 

I am currently taking bookings for solo shows, house concerts, workshops and speaking engagements.

 

Interested in hosting a house concert? Just write to me and we'll plan it together!

 

contact@charlotteeriksson.com

 

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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.

// from my book You’re Doing Just Fine ☾

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