by Kristina Cakova
“Women”
They say we’re
the naive ones,
yet they run marathons
to burn nonexistent witches.
They say we’re
too sensitive,
yet yearn to be
loved by one of us.
They say we’re
too weak
to rule the government,
yet beg us
to carry their children.
We might be as beautiful
as flowers,
we might be as kind
and caring as mothers,
but they are
yet to discover,
the flame burning
inside of us,
from which they might
never recover.
“Atlas”
In a world full of people
who try to sush her down,
she pushes away the hands
that cover her mouth.
Her boundaries, before non-existent
and unidentified,
now stand strong as walls,
guarding the treasure
she owns in her heart.
A sudden realisation
crosses her face,
about how
she used to be her own jailer,
holding herself a prisoner
in society’s space.
With a faint smile,
a painting on her canvas,
she makes promise
to her younger self,
that she will do her best,
to find their long lost atlas.
“Passenger”
Just like that,
she moves on again.
And like all those times before,
it doesn’t catch her breath anymore.
With a stone cold face,
and a heart chipped on the edges,
she reminds herself
they haven’t established
official pledges.
Naively though,
one side of her still longs.
Longs for explanations
and excuses,
hoping their behaviour wasn’t just
empty actions and false praises.
Fantasy.
To be a believer,
in a world full of clowns,
without a single word-keeper.
And just like that,
she continues her search,
with the flame growing smaller,
though her heart,
remains open for the next caller.
“Growing up”
She was smiling
in the picture.
Wearing those funny tights;
long heavy ponytails
swinging by her sides.
Only if she knew
what was waiting for her,
in a future
not so bright.
Dreams turned into illusion,
as her age started to mount up,
once what were
shiny sparks in her eyes,
now only mere delusion.
Where did all the fun go?
She took life too seriously,
leaving magic behind,
though with her soul still kind,
she returns
to the fantasies,
in books she can’t put aside.
“Social Anxiety”
In a room full of people,
surrounded by crowds,
she never felt more lonely,
more distant,
to where her soul grovels.
To the people she loves,
to the people she trusts.
Is it possible,
to have a cup so full,
that a single drop of a person
makes her body crumble?
She encountered
many people
on her journey,
many of whom
she never saw again.
And only a few,
for whom she’d travel to,
back then.
Now,
when she tries to interact,
all of her muscles,
simply contract.
Especially her tongue.
Rejecting
to let out a single sound,
her eyes screaming
for a familiar face near to be found.
In those moments
she realised,
a body needs a home,
with real roots,
no more values compromised.
“ED”
Every now and then
she checks in on me.
Just like all the previous exes
creeping into our lives,
she does the same,
subtly and wise.
It starts with tiniest signs
to thoughts that grow in their size.
Size,
that's exactly what she cares about.
About the size of my thighs
to the size of my meal bites.
She was successful,
so many times before.
Telling me there’s nothing for me
to be grateful for,
unless the scales
showed perfect sight.
Thankfully, I know better now,
than to let her eat me up,
whispering the words of perfect crime.
Crime,
designed against my spark,
against the very core
that makes me thrive.
Thankfully, I know better now,
loving all the imperfections
that make my body
mine.
“Flight”
We think we can’t do anything,
because they told us so,
yet we dream of those days
when there won’t be any boundaries
to our fantasies.
With the wings broadly spread
ready to take the leap,
ready to risk it all,
we wait for the last call to board.
The sparks flying
from synapse to synapse,
transporting neural energy
making our stomach turn upside down,
with the anticipation of stepping out of the crowd.
To curve our own way,
in a world dictated to us,
is to believe unthinkable
can turn into a new must.
“Book Lover”
What if the only reason
she reads so much,
is the fear of what reality offers?
Of never experiencing
true book powers.
Afraid of knowing exactly what she deserves,
without the ability of meeting a person
who would provide,
instead of
feeding on her morals.
Her selflessness and kindness
are mistaken for products,
showcased in stores,
while capitalism exchanges
the currency for their souls.
Taken for granted
so many times before,
she realised
there is no point in believing
the space outside the pages,
when all she dreams of receiving,
keeps only existing in the book world.
The hard cover caresses her wounds,
with gentle reminder of what she desires,
without the intention to settle for less,
not even if that leaves her barefoot and tired.
“Reminiscence”
In the surroundings
of hollow souls,
yearning for wisdom
and kind words,
her chest aches
a little more,
a reminder of an unattainable goal.
She left her
family behind,
in a quest to find
a better future,
only to realise
this journey’s lonely nature.
Her childhood memories
haunting her down,
especially the one
with her running around,
barefoot on the lawn.
What a price
she would pay,
to revisit those days,
one last reckless summer,
with scratched knees and a slow pace.
“Emotionally Unavailable”
She’s all he ever dreamed about,
kind, loving, wise.
Speaks her own heart.
When she talks about
the things she loves,
her eyes spark bright flames.
But once he gets too close,
he might lose her
once and for all,
thinking she plays risky games.
Mistreated by the ones
who came before him,
she fears to let him in.
One slight sign of mistrust,
of difficulty,
and she’ll be far away,
fleeing.
Unaware of the fact,
he desired to keep fighting.
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