Cutting Loose

It was a Michael Jackson concert, somewhere in Europe in the 80s, and the people around me went wild. They danced, they screamed, and they let go of whatever they had bottled up inside. Yet, I couldn’t.

I enjoyed the concert. I clapped, I sang, and I moved to the music, but I never let loose.

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Beautiful Ukraine

When you clean your weapon
When time and again, you clean your weapon
When you rub strong-smelling oils into your weapon
And shield it from the rain with your own body
When you swaddle it like a baby
Even though you’ve never swaddled a baby before —
You’re only nineteen, no baby, no wife —
The weapon becomes your only kin
You and the weapon are one.

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