The liberation of finding people that we can cry with and still be seen as warriors.

The liberation of finding people that we can cry with and still be seen as warriors.

A million poems inside of me are keeping the heat
Even during a winter snow storm.
My resistance
Will not be restricted to physical and mental breakdown.
The graffiti said no human being is illegal
And it gave me some sort of haven in my heart
Halting the process of being emptied
By micro and macro-cosmic melancholy
I know that my power
Comes from the same space as my wounds.
My heart may be weak
And receptive to everything
But my will is strong
And overcomes it all
Constantly crashing roller-coaster
Hurting, burning but back up racing again
I am this complex, mistrusting package for you
Broken
but threaded together with love.
When you hold me
If I don’t hold back
My soul might explode
And fly away
And than where will it be?
I can not afford to lose it again.
But I have enough inner-power
I can afford to give up some to you
And all the rest of the few
Who make me feel less alone
Than when I actually am alone
Even my scars are happy to have met you.
The heart beat rises
It speaks: ”I exist, I exist, exist”
Louder, Harder, Faster.
And everything is right there in the ecstatic moment
Desire burns like fire
Turns the sun hot red.
As I started to swig whiskey
And spread my legs wide.
Not even this could be done in moderation.
Stray cats are the surviving type
But they are not used to thriving.
Or trusting anyone enough to lose any kind of control.
Look – No Hands, No Feet.
Wings.
To fly by alongside my soul.