under svenskalektionens djävliga ångest

Sitting with a goal, unable to achieve it. Letting the words slip off of me, pushing them back. The water has only one goal: to stream down my cheekbones, leave red stripes upon them. Weary faces, but with a distinct feeling of strenght in them, circulating around me. As if they are sure, of where they are going. How they can be, I do not know. My surface, with its empty eyes, pursed lips and constant narrowed eyes, brings uncertainty to the world. A hard body, stiff limbs. The back party crammed with muscles. I do refuse! And as I do, it grows, 'til not even my body, my head, can fit it. Oh, what I do do in order to not achieve this, my goal, in eternities. Counting minutes, seconds and hundreds. Wanting to be minimized, an indifferent spot on a wall. To one day, during a class, nervous eyes will focus on me. Take me under their wings, showing me the pieces of significance I've shreaded out on this yard. Collecting them, I will feel my body lift. As if your confidence is oxygen in a balloon, but in me. There is a king in my ears, and I do have a bird under which wings I live.