Photo: Tibu Borgstén
I look down
and I see my hands,
and I wonder
what good have I made
with them?
Above me -
my bare legs
are crossing the air
like splitting it
to peaces
like white ice.
Am I
doing okay?
Am I
who I`m supposed to be?
I am asking the heaven
to answer me.
In this so beautiful gray,
and grown cold weather
I sit on my blue wooden chair
waiting for a answer
raining down from heaven.
If -
everything is as it should
then why - do I have to play
dead, ore be a woman
who runs in the night
with the Moon?
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