Flowing from the core of my third eye open crazy, revolutionizing my experience of life, my yperness is melting away the fear, it breaks through the obstacles, it climbs up and down, up and down, and I’m writing again, writing again, typing away like crazy, the guitar is ready, the fingertips already, the heart is ready, ready to say I dooooon’t caaaaaare what happens next… the now, let me love the now, LET ME LOOOOOVE the now, like there will be no tomorrow. Have I felt this alive in years? I don’t know. Have I felt this alive in a long time? I don’t know? I misssssssssss, misssssss, misssssssss people and faces, and my language and my naivete, my idealism with no spots on cynicism on it, missssssssss my family, misssssss my friends, but I feel. Out of all these experiences I feel in my heart very deeply. I feel. Because I’m alive. The creation is coming through my fingertips, my eyes keep shining. I don’t know when this poem will end, I almost don’t want it to end, to end, to end, but it has to be more than a poem, it has to be a dance, and a dance that lasts all night, with dreams and sleep incorporated, with a little bit of waking up and moving on and a good day ahead, without the fear of my own fears and without the fear of hate, and without fear of exclusion and without the fear of missing and without the fear of not being enough and without te fear of another fucking campaign. I am way beyond honesty. But I need to speak. SOmedays te screaming goes in my head. Not in my ome, not in my neighborhood, not in my school, not in my club, not in my workplace, not in my city, not in my area, not in my country, not in my church. Not here, you go over there. FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK THAT!!!! THIS EARTH WAS MADE FOR ME TOOOOOOOOOOOO. IT WAS CREATED FOR MEEEEE TOOOOO… EVERYWHERE I STEP I HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE THERE! I never killed anyone, I never commited a crime, so DO NOT punish me for something I didn’t do. Anywhere I go, I am free to be there. I don’t need permission. I am free. I am reclaming those spaces, my space is freedom. I had a meeting, a meeting in my dreams, that’s how stressed I was but it was because I cared. I am a good person. I try to validate myself. But I don’t need you to know that I am a good person. I know. that’s enough. I write my poetry, inspired by hate, by exclusion, tainted with disloyal bonds, tainted with urt in my heart of people I miss who discriminate against me. It’s ok. I have moved on. In my next life, in my next life I’ll still be me. In my next life I’ll still be fine. In my next life I’ll be an artist, speaking tooooo much, writing too much, writing past the point of honesty. No fear. I don’t want to walk with fear. This is my world too. I exist.

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