Buckshot Perforation

I wanted to tell my story.
I let them tell
because I’m dead now
killed by a hunter.
I was standing at the edge of a field.
The Beaters went through
and scared the pheasants away.
Right in front of me
one rose.
I saw the hunter aim
and heard the shot.
The buckshot perforated my torso.
I would have worn that perforation with pride
as a sign and reminder,
I wouldn’t have died from it.
The pheasant got away.
The hunter shrugged.
I had voluntarily put myself in this dangerous situation.
Where there is a shot, there will also be a hit.
It was me this time.
Too bad, I still thought
while I bled to death.
So I’ll let my story be told.
In first-person form,
as if it were myself.
And my name is Zoe.

I look down at the perforation on my chest.
Every single shot a hole.
And I ask myself,
was it that
the first look
be irritated probably
also shocked
but first and foremost
the natural reaction
to deny,
to deny away.
Stages of sadness.
All of that is wrong.
That can’t be true
because I was always told something different.

Yes, I was told
and I believed it.
Could it be,
that they lied
just lied?
People I meant
they loved me
of which I meant
I can trust them.
How long had I been fooled?

And the anger rises in me
on everyone who lied to me.
What were they doing?
In the hierarchy
of authorities and respected persons?
Nothing, unless it was about the hierarchy
the liar and the hypocrite.
Why did you do this to me?
Why did you force me
to play this game of death?
Why did you betray me like that?

Very different from the hunter.
He perforated me
in all openness
as he carries out his craft of murder,
open and respected
only you have banished death behind closed doors.
„Don’t look child
it is not good for you.”
The blood can never be washed away.
blood on my hands.

And I threw it at you.
I shouldn’t have done that.
Could it be different?
No, there is no other way.
The life lie about the truth
a deadly society
must at all costs
be maintained.

So please go back
in your hamster wheel
work – consume – regenerate
and don’t think
for god’s sake don’t think
but there was no other way.

It’s hard with open eyes
not to see.

Lots of little red dots
randomly scattered on my chest.
Had I just discovered my body
as belonging to me
as something
not just me
but belonged to me.
it was nothing more
as a first step.

my body & my mind,
to be expression
where the action ended
where the thought began
where the thought stopped
where the action began.
To be one,
flowed through.
To be one,
voice & touch,
be addressed & touched.
A new starting point.
A new life.

Had it been a day
and one night
and another day
and one night
in the monotony of the unchangeable
and those who cannot be influenced by me,
that’s how it was now
one day,
but a day

one night
but a night
day after day
night after night
 to fill with sheer vitality,
with love and openness and devotion,
without asking,
whether I may
whether it is appropriate.
whether there is liveliness
and overflowing abundance
means, a norm
which only focuses on life
and no longer in the standardized normality.
Love & life,
love alive
living loving.
Nothing else.

The moment,
from which it is worth
to tell my story
was that
where I started to think.
that is not completely right.
It fermented, rumbled, harassed
in me for a long time.
To numb the eternal
void through incessant activity,
made me tired
drained me.
Only the caesura brought the turning point.
From the superfluous abundance
became an overflowing
a discovery of living-loving life
in all facets.
I was only at the beginning.
There was still so much to be accomplished.
And the perforation from the buckshot
would have awarded me
I wouldn’t have died from it.
But I know,
there are many,
who carry it on
maybe first take in the thought
let yourself grow
until they are ready for the red line of the caesura.
Where my story began.
And ended so quickly.
And my name was Zoe

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