& again i push onto the phantom idea of my glasses
only for my ******* to hit the bridge of my nose
telling me "no"
telling me "its time to move on and adjust"
but my unwillingness to, is as dense as the humidity
that hangs heavy in the air
causing sweat to escape out, running down my skin
after being trapped for too long, as of those who had
long fought and forgot love

so many things run down the fragile composition of our mind
like the phantom idea of my glasses that had once been
that even in freedom we keep reaching out to chains
reminiscing the bubbles that eloped us
taking for granted this new contraception of change
paying no heed to the work and hardship that bore us
into a new maternity
am i throwing away the baby and the bathwater?
or, am i reaching out to a blanket to wrap my newborn with?
pain is fickle, and so is change
freedom is around us, and so is the vulnerability that
we are where we are, and in the right place

& again i relax my tense, blinking some more
squinting out to see through my new lens