SHOW NOTES EPISODE 3:

The Sweetest Rain [Spoken Poetry]

 

 LISTEN ON iTUNES

This morning I woke up to the sound of white rain

shattering on my window.

The raindrops kept falling like the sweetest music,

leaving tears on the glass,

which is what music does to me

most of the time.

but silence too. and rain.

 

I’m living with your letter and I’m growing a ritual in reading one line every morning,

or every time I think I’m forgetting you,

and I’m still not sure why I do that because there’s nothing more I wish for than to forget you.

To erase you from my daily habits and not see you in everything I do.

To not feel your hands on my skin 

in the morning

and not hear your words

at night

but still I cling to what you gave me

and taught me,

made me,

and I am still sorry.

 

So I woke up early to the sound of rain and bought an umbrella by the man at the corner next to the coffee shop.

But there was a homeless man

on the other side of the street

and he seemed sad too,

sadder than me,

so I gave him my umbrella because he didn’t have one

and he smiled at me 

with realness in his eyes

like you used to do

and I’d forgotten what that felt like,

looked like,

and it was nice to feel appreciated again,

for a while.

 

There was a lonely bartender last night

and I told him stories about the sound of train stations

where no train arrives,

but he must have thought me lonelier than him

because he kept saying “drinks on me”

and I would never argue with someone who spends his days pouring drinks to wandering souls, eager to find someone who might listen

and might not care

but that’s not the point

and at least he seemed to enjoy the company

of me

because he smiled and answered and told me things too

and it was nice to just sit there and enjoy the simple pleasure of a conversation,

with someone I didn’t know, because I like the way strangers look at me.

They make me sure, of myself and other things, and I speak freer and louder and I don’t try to hide my excitement for life

or sadness because of love

and I haven’t made any mistakes yet, for them,

to them,

or in the life I wish to live.

 

 

Anyway,

I’m living with your letter and there was a lonely bartender last night

and I might or might not have shown it to him

and he might or might not have thought it was fiction

because by the end of another drink he said he’d read my book

and if I knew I wouldn’t have told him

my stories

or showed him

my letter

because I wish for strangers and clean slates 

and this god damn bartender knew every single piece of identity I ever had

and so I asked for another drink and he kept saying “drinks on me” and we didn’t stop until we both had forgotten about the lack of our strangeness 

and I wish to find a way to strangeness even in the morning

when the spinning stops. 

 

But there is no strangeness.

Only the sound of white rain

playing sweet music on my window,

leaving tears on the glass,

which is what music does to me

most of the time

but silence too. and rain.

and I guess that’s enough for now.

Until the smell of you vanishes from my skin,

that will be enough for now.

This is a piece from my book "Another Vagabond Lost To Love", I hope you will enjoy it ♡

You can find more excerpts from the book here.

 

MUSIC USED IN THIS EPISODE:

- London by The Glass Child  >>>

________________

I hope you enjoy this podcast as much as I love making it! If you want to support me to keep doing everything I do, please consider joining me on Patreon. There I create monthly video blogs, give away free new demos, do live streams and keep a beautiful community of hope and belonging.

If you want to show me that you want me to keep recording those podcast episodes, it would mean the world if you took the time to give me a 5-star review on iTunes. It tells the computer robots that my podcast should be recommended to more people and that way I can reach new friends who might enjoy what I do.

NEW PODCAST

Behind The Glass

with Charlotte Eriksson

SUBSCRIBE & DOWNLOAD

ON iTUNES NOW!

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 

172-1727421_podcast-subscribe-listen-but

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

 

  • Spotify - White Circle
  • Instagram Clean
  • Twitter Clean
  • YouTube Clean
  • Tumblr Clean
  • SoundCloud Clean
  • Pinterest - White Circle
  • Amazon - White Circle
  • Facebook Clean

MONTHLY LETTER OF

THOUGHTS & INSPIRATION

Sign up so I can let you in on my adventures, projects, 

show you new music & share things that inspire me!

  • Instagram - Grey Circle
Listen to my podcast!
Behind The Glass with Charlotte Eriksson

Broken Glass Records proudly offers a wholesale program for qualifying retailers, businesses, and large groups to carry the books of Charlotte Eriksson. We can cater to independent bookstores, coffee shops, record stores, etc. and are happy to discuss rates with interested parties. If you are interested in carrying Charlotte's books in your store or placing a bulk order please click the button above.

The Glass Child Ambassador Program is now open!

Click the title above to read more and apply.

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 ☾

© Copyright 2020 Broken Glass Records

www.BrokenGlassRecords.se