First the chest, than the limbs; Feel it alllllll the way to your bones & back, til you're properly consumed. Nights spent with eyes peeled open, eyeballs clinging to the darkest of shadows, fingers twitching at descending cars.

Me:  "Hey, why don't we jump to the short queue?",
Him: "Well, because we have more items ***",
Me:  "yeah but, that queue is shorter",
Him:  "Yes, that's because they have less items, see?",
Me: "I'm gonna jump into this queue" ( changes to the short queue),
Him:  " No don't do th.....", aw crap!!",
Till operator:"Sorry ma'am, you have too many items, you need to join the other queue",
me and him: go alllllll the way to the back, of the long queue......

Patience my friends... Is a virtue, just ask my guy.....:D

There's 104 days of self isolation,
and the cure comes along just to end it,
the annual problem of our generation,
is finding a way just to spend it, like maybe

making dalgona or making a donuts,
and avoiding friends for a month,
discovering vaccine that's not yet exist,
or maybe taking a showerrrrrrr.

ten ten ten

switching 3 different apps,
waiting for you to text,
ended up sleeping all daysssssss.
PHINEAS !!

As you can see there's a whole lot of stuff to do,
before this virus can kills us alllllll,
so stick around with us cause Phineas and  Ferb Corona do it allllll.

MOM , PHINEAS AND FERB TRYNA MAKE A TITLE SEQUENCE !

the door in my old room. the one with light blue sky and clouds painted over every inch of the walls. the two window sills in my room, with the dirt from when i’d go in and out of them. my ceiling from which i hung wind chimes. my bunk bed that had alllllll my stuffed animals on the top bunk. with a book called the anybodies (my favorite as a kid) to read on the top bunk with the fan on. anyway,
the door in my old room. i wasn’t allowed to close it, so i almost never did. but when i did, it was so I could write and draw on the white backside. my teenage poetry. pure, ****** poetry.
well i wonder if it’s all still there.
nostalgia is a slow, everlasting-like ******. a guaranteed good feeling. because i feel just enough sorrow that it’s the really good feeling pain because also, i’m happy as if i’m happy crying. if that makes sense
“i know it well” blood bank
momma, i miss you. i feel you. i only wish to ever be enough, and to be a good person.
even the best of us aren’t perfect hm?
my old door was cool. i miss some of those times. i feel like thinking about the lyric “hearts are broken every day.” has been messing with me lately. heartbreak (don’t judge me aight) reminds me that i am human. heartbreak makes me feel mortal in a way few things can. so what is the point of my life when i already know such heartbreak, it’s impacted me a lot, but it is simultaneously an every single day, multiple times per second occurrence. very common. very common **** my ****. that **** hurts in a good way you feel me?

The caterpillar walks alongside groovy stems; so what do you mean?
    the banjo plays on to rusty hymns; what is that supposed to mean?  the plainsong of those birds of a feather upends: excuse me, come again please?
   but nobody, no one;  ever… told you you had
to comprehend. Oh fam, you’re soo mean!
So you can take your suit just in case,
and I can take in the
rain and coat  my little dream. What, why? You don’t mind.  and I don’t mind metaphors
to explain lyrics across…  the bard. You’re speaking in riddles, Man! So what is Poetry
to me, if I can’t take
it’s license and play with my words, words you would discard, I call  deuces wild, yeah my friend. Nah, it’s not like that at all child. Yes it is. No it’s not. Yes it is. No it’s not! And that’s the way I feel y’all. I just think a thought and jot.

Jot it all down. Jot it all down. Jot alllllll DoWn… when I think a thought.