Love letters to the death

Writer, poet, poetry, darkpoetry, author, darksoul, Norway, dikter, dikt, poet, forfatter, artist, kunstner, words, myself, loveletters, kjærlighetsbrev, creative, Art: my own @orkidedatter

Your spirit is a last fragrance from

your touch on my cheek

darkness is crying out

you gasping for air

see into the depth of my soul

feel into the depth of my heart

sink into the depth of my eyes

unfulfilled dreams can’t be my

ashes from my rose petals

after my death

shades from a panther in the shadows

painting the weakest chain in a cloud

starless night and a path in the forest

black pearls dripping down from heaven

the perfect touch from Angels above

with love and prayers

my fragile heart can’t bear this

life on earth anymore..therefore

I write love letters to the dead…


Behind a mask

Poet, poetry, Norwegian, Norge, Norsk, dikter, forfatter, my life, dark poetry, creative, my soul, my heart, authorArt: my own @orkidedatter

– Behind a mask-

Behind a mask, someone is hiding

my door was opened to my safe place

now it became my prison

I cried – no one saw my tears

I screamed in disgust – no one has ever

heard them

a little girl’s fragility gets crushed by the crime

caught in the curse of the mask

no escape

trapped in a body that slowly have died

she buried herself in pain

so as not to feel what she saw

a empty shell with a color of black

behind a mask an unwritten diary

beneath rolling waves

a sea of guilt

bound with chains and trapped in mystery

every minute passed and I felt the hell that

even darkness feared .


Kissing the sky

Artist Norway norwegian artist acryl kunstner forfatter dikter norsk dikter poet poetry kiss love love hurts Art: my own @Orkidedatter

-Kissing the sky-

words ran out of his masculine mouth like a

river of stones

«Kissing the sky»

I could feel the changes of the breeze from

falling sparkling stars from our solar system

in this night of symphony

tears in heaven writing through the trees

I read the signs from you

it’s feels like I’m dreaming

I can still feel your warmth from your body

when you dying in my arms

and your Venus lost her mind…

I cry…I scream…

I fight every heart string within not to feel

…they said it will be ok…

I scream louder things I shouldn’t have done…

but, have you ever been so shattered,

feels like nobody is listening….

«Kissing the sky» the wind blows in my ear…

The pain.. I’m losing control..

my heart is devastated

my soul is splintred

I’m lost without you

back to war zone..

wishing I could push a button and my life

would unwind

a revolution in my thoughts

you was my diamond

I am at the bottom now

laying on the ground with your picture in my


where the midnight and my sadness meet

rewinding our lives

no memories can get you back…

don’t cover my scars

let them bleed

it feels like I’m dreaming

watching a bird in flight to my

burning flame of pain inside

you are coming to take me home

we are kissing the sky

in a darkened road

where no Angels dare to go…


A country girl’s New Year

Art artist poetry orkudedatter Norway poem New Year forfatter author norwegian author dark soul dark soul poetry Norway Art: my own @orkidedatter

New Year and my skeleton rattle of

memories of withered days

lies like an evil smoke in the air

headlines from the miserable color-spattering

paint strokes in the dark

I throw away an old treasure map from my

ruined soul on the ocean

a cold winter night that casts a veil over me of

ice crystals

I howl against the moon and

wave to nature’s queen between the stars

a dark room in my heart with fear of another

new and strange year

the old I wipe out from the canvas of life

a collection of thoughts from my dead eyes and

my scars of madness in my wounds of running

from the unknown

You spoke to me in poetry

tangle me in your rhyme

you danced with me in my darkness of sorrow

and wake me up inside

my broken heart heal

and this year you can’t burn someone who is

made of fire…

I reach for your hand

I inhale your memory because when I exhale

your ghost beneath the lilac skies and where

the cold winds blows as they strip you away…

it is time to watch what happens when bravery

lights the way

unlike storms left undspoken

-I have stared into the abyss

and it has stared back into me

I have lived there-in hell…

I will rewrite the ending to start over on the


Welcome 2020


Cage of defeat

She is chained with barbed wire

in a cage and it will be the

death of her

in an endless emptiness

is an old friend

the sweet grief

she is a mess and her misery

have no end

she is not bulletproof

bending like a broken rose

with thorns stretching up the

sky full of stars

she climbs up to experience endless

heavenly view

a magical mystery ride on her

favorite star

when the world is beating her down

in the cage of defeat.



(This post is only in English)

It was a bit cloudy in the mountains today, but it does not stop Lillian from an outdoor meditation.

I sit down on a stone, feel like I get in touch with Mother Earth and listen to the sounds. The silence is the right word, but it is only broken by the stream running next to me.

First, I take a look at the stream that trickles. Look at the water and the patterns in it. I see the stones on the bottom and it flows.

I close my eyes and my soul goes on adventure.

I stand on the highest mountain and look down on the dense deep forest and cry out loud over mountains, plains, fjords and other fauna. «I managed it» …

I see for myself the «ladder» I have climbed up and down so many times. When I have climbed a step up, I have fallen three steps down again.

The road from the abyss and just getting the «head over the water» has been a battle on my own.

I imagine the steep and slippery mountainsides where nothing has been used.

Then it has been to walk sideways a good distance with the ladder on the back which weighs extra.

Sleeping and heavy it has been, where mouse steps have become a nightmare and I just want wings like a bird so I can escape over the challenging mountains I have in front of me.

Again, I want to welcome my thoughts as if they are guests in my house with me. Taking them kindly in and when it’s time to go, I say goodbye and close the door.

-This is so powerful to me, and help me a lot.

Thank you nature and Mother Earth.


Poisonous words

(English text after the Norwegian)

Giftige ord poisonous words poem Norwegian blogger skyld fault mental health skam shame dandelion child løvetannbarn

Når hun snakker med deg

trigger du hennes følelser.

Når hun snakker med deg

trigger du hennes erfaringer

og opplevelser.

Når hun snakker med deg

trigger du «livet».

Det er som kniver blir hugget

inn i hennes hjerte

og piggtråd som strammer til

langt inn i hennes hjerte.

Hjertet blør og hennes sjel

vrir seg i smerte.

Det er vondt.

Deres blodsbånd er usynlig,

men for henne alltid bundet.

Det er vondt.

Hun tar et skritt tilbake,

og lar giftige ord passere forbi.

Hun hilser de velkomne, men

lar de gå.

Det er som en kald vinternatt

der isstapper så spisse som

piler blir kastet inn i hennes hud.

Det svir og brenner, og arrene


De begynner å falme, hjerte hennes gror

og sjelen blomstrer.

Hun snur ryggen til og går, men

følelsen av alltid være udugelig,

skyld og skam sitter som

brent fast i hennes ånd.



Poisonous words.

When she talks to you,

you arouses her feelings.

When she talks to you,

you arouses her experiences.

When she talks to you, you arouses

her whole «life», she try to heal.

It is like knives being carved

in her heart and barbed wire

that tightens into her heart.

The heart bleeds and her soul

is twisted in pain.

It hurts.

Their blood band is invisible,

but for her it always bound.

It hurts.

She takes a step back and

lets poisonous words pass by.

She welcomes they, and let it go.

It is like a cold winter’s night

that icicles flies like arrowheads

thrown into her skin.

It burns, and the scars have a pain

she can’t describe.

They begin to fade,

the heart of her heals,

and the soul is flourishing.

She turns her back to the

words of poison

and goes away, but

the feeling of being always

inept, guilt and shame

is like burned in to her spirit.



(English text after the Norwegian text).

Hun tar sine siste skritt.

Her hun kaller sitt hjem.

Hun snur seg og ser sine egne fotspor.

Hun var ikke klar over at de så slik ut.

Hun opplever at den ene foten skiller seg ut fra den andre.

Det er som hennes fotspor prøver å si henne noe.

Hennes fotspor er overalt på dette stedet.

Så mye følelser.

Hun ønsker bare å viske de bort.

Hun skal snart ut på en reise.

En reise der hun skal farge alle farger i regnbuen, i vinden og på sine vinger.

Hun ser for seg en hvit sommerfugl.

Flyr igjennom kraftig motvind.


Ligger livløs på bakken.

Hun stryker den varsomt.

Hun ser et lite sår i den skjøre kroppen.

Det vil alltid bli et arr.

Hun løfter den opp mot himmelen.

Håper den er sterk nok til å fly.

Sommerfuglens følehorn beveger seg opp og ned.

Retter litt på vingene sine.

Løfter seg opp og flyr.

Langt borte i horisonten er den bare en svart prikk.

I hånden hennes ligger sommerfuglens avtrykk igjen.

Sommerfuglens støv skinner som glitter i hennes hånd i alle mulige farger.

Så den hvite sommerfuglen var ikke helt hvit alikevel…

Den gjemte bare sin skjønnhet.

Kanskje en dag alle ser hvor vakker den fargeløse og hvite sommerfuglen er…




She takes her final steps.

Here she calls her home.

She turns around and sees her own footsteps.

She didn’t realize they looked like this.

She feels that one foot stands out from the other.

It’s like her footsteps trying to tell her something.

Her footsteps are everywhere in this place.

So much emotion.

She just wants to wipe them away.

She will soon be on a journey.

A journey where she will color all colors in the rainbow,

in the wind and in her colorless wings.

She envisions a white butterfly.

Feeling through heavy headwinds.


Lives lifeless on the ground.

She strokes it gently.

She sees a small wound in the fragile body.

It will always be a scar.

She lifts it up to the sky.

Hope it is strong enough to fly.

The butterfly’s feelings move up and down.

Turns its wings slightly.

Raises up and flies.

Long away from the horizon it is just a black shadow.

In her hand, the butterfly’s imprint is again.

Dust shines like glitter in her hand,

in all possible colors.

So the white colorless butterfly was not quite white anyway …

It just hid its beauty.

Maybe someday everyone sees how

beautiful the colorless and white butterfly is …


A flash of hope in the broken mirror.

(English text after Norwegian)

Et glimt av håp i det knuste speilet trist sad girl jente I am sorry coping with life mental health coping with life wuality of life Norwegian blogger Thoughts in Norway dandelion children

Jeg rydda litt i noen av de veldig gamle tinga mine. Ting som jeg har tatt vare på.

Jeg fant dette bilde…


Jeg synes det er veldig fint og det betyr mye for meg. Jeg fikk det i 6-7 års alderen.

Jeg har alltid følt meg litt som jeg opplever og ser reven på bildet. Med såre og triste øyne, et «ansikt» som sier «lei meg» og ser lengselfull på fuglen som seiler forsiktig forbi. Når fuglen er ute av syne, sitter reven igjen, alene. Litt hutrende, kald og trist.

Det har gjort noe med meg, den virkelighet jeg har erfart, som ingen «bilde» kan fortelle, men allikevel den «følelsen» i dette bilde…og jeg makter ikke å kaste det.

Det har tatt meg en stund å rippe opp i gamle sår, men jeg vil så veldig gjerne bli bra igjen og bli hel igjen. For meg har det gitt meg troen på å ennå stå oppreist.

Følelsen av å «miste meg selv» har begynt å reparere seg. Jeg klatrer flere trinn på «stigen» opp fra avgrunnen og jeg kjenner på en oppblomstring inni meg selv som jeg ikke tørr å tenke på.

Hvorfor: jeg er så utrolig redd for å miste grepet, miste meg selv igjen ned i avgrunnen, for der vil ingen være. Jeg tørr nesten ikke å håpe, nesten ikke å tro, men jeg hvisker forsiktig ut

«jeg tror «meg» snur nå, og «fighteren i meg våkner».

Jeg får ikke gjort noe med fortiden, men jeg kan gjøre noe med fremtiden. Jeg kan lære av fortiden…eller nei…..det vet jeg ikke om jeg kan.

Jeg kjenner hele kroppen min velter seg i avsky, for hva kan jeg lære av hvordan jeg hadde det. Hva kan jeg, som var et lite barn lære av mine opplevelser…. Jeg klarer ikke å se det selv tror jeg.

Jeg må griper tak i de gode minnene og la de ta meg med på en reise inn i min verden. Det er noe her som har gått veldig riktig allikevel, tenker jeg.

Jeg vet at jeg ble utrolig god på å være «snill pike», jeg ble god på å gjøre meg selv «usynlig», jeg ble god på overlevelsesstrategier, jeg ble god på å beskytte meg, og god på flere ting som barn ikke skal være gode på, eller måtte lære seg overhodet.

Så, følelsen av hva jeg sitter igjen med, jo, jeg mista totalt grepet. Jeg satt plutselig i den situasjonen at min barndom la seg over meg som et «mørkt teppe» og ville ikke slippe et lysglimt inn heller. Jeg lå som naglet fast med «et mørke» over meg, og jeg ville det bare skulle ta slutt. Jeg vet ikke hvordan slutt, for jeg orket ikke å leve, men denne gangen ville jeg ikke dø.

Jeg ser på bildet. Jeg ser utover tunet. Jeg ser meg selv i speilet, det knust speilet, og det speiler tilbake. Hvilken følelse sitter jeg med nå? Hvilken følelse får jeg av å se speilbildet mitt? Hvilken følelse burde jeg hatt? Hvilken følelse kunnet ha vært? Ingen følelse?

Jo, en hel haug av følelser ….

Jeg har snublet og falt, reist meg utallige ganger, forstått at de veivalg jeg har tatt er feil, måttet snu, ramla rundt

i en evig sirkel og i dag står jeg ved veiskillet igjen….

Så det blir enda en dag å jobbe i seg selv….Men det viktigste av alt er at jeg skal -gjøre små ting med stor kjærlighet- og

være den beste utgaven av meg selv, for den ble ikke så verst allikevel tror jeg…

Det er et glimt av håp i det knuste speilet…



Orkidedatter Norway Norwegian blogger

A flash of hope in the broken mirror.

I cleared some of my very old things. Things I’ve taken care of.

I found this picture …

Norwegian blogger Norway

I think it’s very nice and that means a lot to me. I got it at 6-7 years of age.

I have always felt a bit as I experience and see the fox in the picture. With sore and sad eyes, a «face» that says «sorry» and sees longing for the bird that sails gently past. When the bird is out of sight, the fox sits alone. A little hissing, cold and sad.

It has done something to me, the reality I have experienced, that no «picture» can tell, yet the «feeling» in this picture … and I can’t throw it away.

It has taken me a while to rip up old wounds, but I would very much like to be good again and be whole again. For me, it has given me the belief that I still standing up.

The feeling of «losing myself» has started to repair. I climb several steps on the «ladder» up from the abyss and I know a bloom inside myself which I dare not think of.

Why: I’m so terribly afraid of losing my grip, losing myself again in the abyss, because no one will be there. I almost dare not hope, almost not to believe, but I whisper gently to myself…

«I think» me «turns now, and» the fighter in me wakes up «.

I can’t do anything with the future. I can learn from the past … or no ….. I don’t know if I can.

I know my whole body is falling in disgust, because what can I learn from how it was, I was a little child learning from my experiences …. I can’t see it myself I think.

I have to grab the good memories and let them take me on a journey into my world. who has gone very well anyway, I think.

I know that I was incredibly good at being «kind girl», I was good at making myself «invisible», I became good at survival strategies, I became good at protecting myself and good at several things that children should not be good at or have to learn at all.

So, the feeling of what I’m left with, well, I totally lose my grip. I suddenly sat in the situation that my childhood lay over me like a «dark blanket» and would not let in a flash of light either. I lay stuck with «a dark» over me, and I just wanted to end it. I don’t know how to end because I couldn’t live, but this time I wouldn’t die.

I look at the picture. I look out over the yard. I see myself in the mirror, the mirror shattered, and it reflects back. What feeling am I with now? What feeling do I get from seeing my mirror image? What feeling should I have? What feeling could have been? No feeling?

Well, a whole bunch of emotions ….

I’ve stumbled and fallen, raised me countless times, understood that the path choices I’ve made are wrong, had to turn around, fall down an eternal circle and today I’m standing at the crossroads again. …

So it will be another day to work in itself ….

But most important of all is that I should – do small things with great love – and

be the best edition of myself, because it didn’t get too bad anyway I think …

There is a flash of hope in the broken mirror …