sometimes i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
once a washcloth has been greasy and worn out,
someone who appreciates its worth takes it out from the workshop,
rubs it clean
removes all the grime, the dirt, the grease, the impurity
soaks it in a tub full of soap and warm water
then laid out to enjoy the breeze
and embrace the warmth of the sun
to start fresh, to start anew, to feel brand new again.
a clean slate for the washcloth; a repetitive process until it has been worn out on its last string.

i wonder what it's like to be a washcloth.
to be able to wring out all the scars, the wounds, the wickedness
and start anew every time.

but i guess that's what makes us human.
all the battle scars will remain as a lesson,
all the wickedness situated upon us will always convey a message,
and all the pain will serve its reminder that there is a brighter tomorrow.

but sometimes,
i can't help but wonder
what it's like to be a washcloth.

Nothing implies,
I write to feel alive.

Every day,
I walk by,
Imagination flies.

In the twinkling of an eye,
Seize it,
and will be mine.

Aren't we humans born to be the carriers of moments ? that turns out to be past or the history which we like to name as memories ,carrying versions of people in our minds that we remember them as one and may be making them time travel so they will be remembered when they are no longer there may be by our side or in existence .
If not then,
why did we born and for what?

Politics. People as huge crowds.
Paper and Pen.
Metaphors and Fights.
Human Rights Debates and Agriculture.
Voting is very politically charged.

*******! There is souls in life.
Google Translate Sings is awesome. People **** because death.
You are all ******* and fuckwads of your own life.
Valid is valid.

How can this be it?
Wasn't there a talk of the promised land?
Where we could all be free,
running across the fabled white sand.

Here I am waiting for the day to come,
The day that will shine so bright.
And from the damp and cold corner,
I will walk into the light.

What if we were to live in a world
          Where nothing had a title
                       How would things be different
                                Would people no longer judge?
                                             Would there be no labels?
                                                          Could we live in this untitled world?