Pouring my heart into the things I touch, I create, express, and rotate. I’m alright;

I’m just fine. My feet and hands are tingling with electricity, my mind travels far beyond the borders of my skin, and there I find sunshine and dewdrops.

Yesterday, I saw my friends. They are so cute they make me cry. Tears oozing with resistance, deliberately shed just to find life in the small voice within me.

Tears that mingle with the linearity of time, rising into the clouds, being filtered, and finding themselves in rivers again. Tears like the ones you cry when you can finally rest, when you can finally stop fighting. Tears that melt into hugs that have waited centuries to unfold.

In these moments, my sense of self dissolves into the eternity around me. I ascend by my navel and roar with laughter and joy. Outside, they wait for me.

They locked me inside, but outside, they wait for me. My pale skin is proof of my loneliness, but I imagine the trees standing in circles around me.

I am older now, you know. There is no more youth residing in the valleys of my shoulders, no more gloom hanging over my childhood, no more acid-filled mud glorifying irresponsibility. Bluish, shimmering telltale signs of not knowing how to resist the pull of the gun - and once again, I find myself in the womb of time, etching a sketch into the present.

I want to be touched. I want to be naked in the rivers of my childhood. I want to be taller than the crescent of dirt I played with as a child. I want smoke to curl around my tender fingers, and I want to kiss everyone around me. I want my tears to meet the guardian of justice and teach him how to swim. I want to be alive again.