I steam my face with a cup of boiled water.
I have the flu
and I move in closer to the steam, closer and closer
once I've reached far down as I can
I hear the noise, something like a sea shell
then
I remind myself
we are all in one body with no space for mechanics.
We scream and we laugh and we cry
the noise echoes inside the room
we throw ourselves to the comfort.
We are in one hollow.
We are individuals.

The word blossom is the indigenous sense of reality for some
women blossom and they don't strive when it comes to their gender.
They say they know and will.
If you figure out the technical stuff from who you are.
What really are you?
It's a myth, a mere hypothesis to your reality.
It may feel as though you owe something.
Nonetheless, I have felt this way.

The breath of bewilderment from a child’s train, striking me
Slicing through and through to each tendon
The engine running through the lungs of agonized sinners thrill
and chucking away the guts of his victim, with choo choo

I once thought life was like paper
If there is ink the paper will wallow if it is not sturdy
but when you walk out with a better mind
as I believe I have in me now,
I start to realize
that I can see life as a glass of water, filled
once there is ink it disperses itself
and like a child my eyes widen at the view
the thing is
I'm looking at the glass, and I see it is beautiful.
So now, I enjoy spending my time thinking outside the box
I am in my own universe and I can change the color of the ink
could it be yellow? is it orange today?
maybe a light shade of blue.

The waves come upon shore
The droplets strike with all might
Their light and sensitivity touch, I caress.
The sea is as bumpy a hike trail yet smooth when you go on across with a car.
The thousands of sea creatures that await upon my vision of the sea.
There is only them and me.
I wonder and I’ve pondered at the waves that resemble patterns differing among each other yet follow 0.2% of their brothers.
Will they be alike, and which ones are the ones opposing?
It resembles war in my eyes.
Marching side to side but on the front lines they are one.
Each wave is once small and others bigger.
Which will come and which will go? When will it fall silent rather flat, and here I sat seeing and pondering which will come again.
I see you, and I am happy each time you rise.

A pebble is as rusty a bike chain underneath my bus
I see a city of wonder instead of lost
I ate chili like It were my first time.
The sky takes away all tears and I am as joyful as a child stepping in a puddle
The needle is underneath my cloth
And sun shimmers
I have rejoiced with my first sewing memory.
You’ve probably been motivated by rain or motivated by how light the sun touches your skin early morning.
The sun kisses me like Sunday morning.
A rose needle has me staring out the bus window
My eyes wonder but you are not close to me.
I reject all common sense and you smile back at me.
Tomorrow we meet; I believe.
You brought my first sorrow and sadly it stayed; however patience was key after 3 years.
I see you again.
You are the same as ever.
I am reliefed.
Again, you laugh with me. At stupid things.
We were at Dave and Busters at Arcadia.