Different Kinds Of Freedom Poem by Katerina Val

Through the bottom of the crystal bottle I shall rise
If I feel a little over this, the bottle shall be cracked, the bottle shall bleed
through the bottom of your kindness I shall kill any kind of pride
I should have known, my soul is not the same one as it used to be
and had to be three years before
I' ll clutch at my soul, I' ll strangle my soul
for one more second, I shall accept through kindness to lose control

Gently, as I retreat and shudder in front of my soul

Behind the dark, I endorse the shadows and the next second
I am incarnated in the pellucidity
I have not the flesh, they hide my flesh
the sharp rude shadows ate my flesh
and as if they hadn't been that full of dose of my skin
they carried me within
satisfied as they could not be
they chocked me in

they should go on stealing the breath
that I had used a couple of seconds to get out of that cell
they took my breath and yelled
'through our skin, through this hell
You shall find the things your eyes can't sell
and you shall swim through lakes our fairytales cannot tell
you shall see the things you hoped to hate
and through us, you' ll finally get to run away'

I had to do nothing less than to accept
they stole my apart unforgettable loneliness
they slaughtered it's depths
they made it less, they had it curved and etched
not yet flat or hollow
but still empty
they seized the hole of my emptiness
and frozen and different
I could hide behind these handrails
even if they are too thin to get me think
I could hide them in, inside me
and refuse the free I could not be

from what my heart had supposed
to be the end
asphyxiated, I had to hide, not there yet

Pretty little kids played around the cold stiff earth
their naïve subconscious laughs had to echo in the valley
in the lost land where lucidity had won
like frozen crystals posed in front of the melancholic sun
those imitations of depressed people touching the edge of the pin
yet, too sharp, yet, too strong
so that it can hurt enough
or too fragile to stop?
reflecting like forgotten crashes of the wildest fantasy
this ignored hullabaloo
gave me a taste of what freedom should be.

But yet I could not feel
the reason that I had to run from the bleed
from the sharp shape that my thoughts seemed to seal
on my head
even if I had the possibility to run and scream and cry and yell
all them under the perspective of eternal bliss and happiness
I should not care more or less
I should not find the second to succumb
this is my cell
my private hell
the only place I can trust
to touch freedom through cold hands
under the burning sun

Because the other kinds of freedom
are insidious and envious and heinous
with the truth
they are perpetual, unkind and two-faced
worse than any cell, they don't offer any kind of help
I prefer
hundreds of times I prefer
to freeze, bite my tongue and die down in this hell
than to take the pain away
through it, I can stay
and touch freedom
even if it is thousand miles away.