Kaja Kania
Barrier
They call me the poet
there's 100 words on paper
in my head - 100 thousand.
They call me the artist
I want to write about soul
but can't find it
so write about body in torture.
And how can I describe
sunshine to blind
or rustle of blowing
wind to deaf?
And whatever I write
won't be understood
or worse
understood completely
differently.
Page(s) 29
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