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Setting Free

by Kristina Cakova


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.


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. 


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.


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. 


when she tries to interact,

all of her muscles,

simply contract. 

Especially her tongue.


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. 


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.


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. 


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 



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.


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, 


Unaware of the fact,

he desired to keep fighting.


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