patient paper

I´ve been going through old poems

I´ve written aeons ago, in a different

life, in a different time, different me.

Trembling under my feather coat

the icy starlight chills my body

colors my skin dark, blue and black.

Dried ink lines on my paper heart

Words. But those are not mine!

Not my terms I keep on my mind,

not only my shrivelled dreams

casting shadows under my eyes.

How could I´ve fled? Run away?

Not mine to protect, nor to nurture.

How did those principles gotten to me?

Whose pen scratched them into my skin?

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