LINDA M. CRATE

wild warrior of the birds 

i let people in 

not realizing

my love was not universal,

and people used and abused

my heart;

so i started building walls

and locking doors—

they say you have to let people in,

but i don't expect that i might;

i am too afraid of carrying new wounds in

the name of love

don't know how much more of people

i can take—

would rather be alone and happy than alone in 

a crowded room because i know i can find

joy in the wild wood where the trees always welcome me

or in the pages of a book or in the waves of music of the sea,

all they want are ties that bind;

i am looking to be free

for i am that wild bird always resisting cages

and no matter how pretty my song is i will forever 

keep it free of those who would seek to own me—

i am no one's property or damsel,

warrior of love and light;

my magic and my dreams will destroy any

who would seek to shatter me with

their needs and nightmares.

not your stepping stone 

the sun oversees the day,

but it is the moon

that holds my heart and secrets;

she is my mother

and the siren singing songs

to the sea of my heart—

i am wild and fierce

warrior of the flowers and trees,

i prefer kindness and compassion;

but like the moon i have

a dark side

with claws and teeth glimmering

i transform into a monster

hungry for destruction—

i am not your stepping stone,

too long i have allowed things

i ought not have;

no longer shall you walk all over me.

the music of life

i am woman

vessel of strength and divinity

magic and power and dreams and ambition

if you a hurdle in my life

will just jump over you

don't need any more obstacles in the pursuit

of who i am meant to be,

and i know there is more to life than this;

i crave something beyond this existence—

for some this may be enough,

but i am always wanting to sing new songs

and journey new journeys and know 

new adventures;

i always want new growth

because whilst a comfort zone is always

comfortable it is no place where i can shed pieces

of my soul that no longer suit me—

sometimes i need new clothes,

new oceans, and new moons; sometimes

my mouth needs to know the melodies

of new songs.

**********************copyright linda m. crate