Today I was told a story
Of a little child and her bird
And of how she had a string
That she tied to its leg
Every time she let the bird go
It would start to fly away, thinking it was free
But she would always pull the bird back,

And the bird never learned
So it kept trying to fly away
Hoping one day his wish would come true

I feel like the bird
Always trying to be free
But being pulled back by some force that I have yet to discover

Maybe the bird always knew
That he would die in the child's hands

Just like I know
That I will keep trying,
Trying to fly away
Even if my string is pulling me back

I recently have noticed
how sick I look on you
everytime you post a pic
or share a moment

I look sick following you
Everytime that you try
to make your life apart
I look sick when I follow you
not through dark alleys
but on twitter, facebook
or instagram

I am not used to write
odd modern poetry
but you deserve a reason
to why I started
unfollowing you

So, everytime you upload
a last-night-party pic
I want you to know I won't be there
looking for every guy you were
hanging around with

Because lately I've noticed
that I look sick not for following you
                                            exactly
but for being aware
of what you were doing

I'm sick of being a post
instead of being a memory
I'm sick of social media
and their way of twisting things

Making us more a number or dates
instead of making us "friends"
(who says that you can't be friend with your ex?
maybe ancient rules, maybe an idiot
with post-traumatic-relationship-stress)

I'm sick of "follows", "tweets", "likes"
ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends

I'm unfollowing you for my health
I'm unfollowing the entire world 'cause
constantly they remind me to you
with all their fake friends and ***** guys
and ***** girls; ******* attention that
maybe they don't truely deserve

Yeah, probably I should unfollow the world
                                                     for my health

You wish, wonder and wait for them to appear….

Yearning for their attention, imagining them as something so grand and magical…

And when they do grace us with their presence they vanish as quickly as they appear and they never meet up to even half of our expectations…

In the end we wish they stayed in our imaginations where they were something worth desiring and filled us with hope

the warmth
of vibrant colors in soft sunlight
makes a child of me
in the way i might run to chase the wind
as the leaves are dancing toward the heavens

what simplicity
separate colors on their palette
do paint until blended
mixed with all the hues of life and energy
so that they may build the blocks that breathe this world
with light and creativity

of all these colors
do i find you with black on white
with wires and impulses
numbers arranged in a way that have no meaning
but to other machines on the other side of the world

and that your eyes might find them
so that if only for a second
those colors might exist in your mind
the way that memories exist in your heart

❓ ❓ ❓ ❓
The ***** and board's relationship is ***** and be *******. Immaterial. Whether your ancestors loved each other makes no difference. Procreation is everything.
    Don't play coy with me, my fourth quintuplet. I'm an arm's length from slapping your mother's neighbor.