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Wooden Heart
As the fire warms my eyes
I cannot not burn myself
Inside
As the cold hands all my cries
I cannot not loosen the flaws I have, hold
Inside
As I use some wood to make my heart
I throw the blooming flowers in the fire
that grow from my wooden heart apart
And those sticks I hold between my broken hands
I throw them in the remaining cold
The flames as they slowly eat my grown respect
The fright that fearlessly warms my eyes
I' ve learnt to appreciate my multiple faces
Respect my wooden hearts all the exhausted made-up tears
I've been taught how to show gracious respect to my clothes made of laces
And how to be incapable to bare my nudity inside the cold
In the weirdest crowded and vacant places
Between all the exhausted made up cries
And their coldest faces
I bleed, I'm touched
I feel moved like I'm taking far too much
I tear as I let the fire stop
I'll burn my heart
My wooden heart
And as I lie
I'll let the freezing cold
Regain my trust
And burn me till I die
I burn my wooden heart
At last i get control now
In my wooden
paralyzed
cold
hand.
poem
by
Katerina Val
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