I typed this literary piece on a relaxed evening, when my fingers have the need to express words and so i let it flow:
oh! my love, for slam poetry, my love for the spoken words, the art, the craft, so carefully designed, connected intertwined.
oh! how i wish my mouth could move, my lips could open, and i proclaim the sweet coordinated words, that slams you in the face like sweat, sweat that runs through the cheeks in the hot summer days.
But, no! yet, i am trapped in my own world, but, God! do i even call it my world. my world? no! it is not my world just because i live in it, i breathe in it, or because, i think, i own it.
i am too protective, no! i am to possessive, i want possess everything i see, i want this, i want that, but no! i cannot have it all.
But, oh yes, money! the thing they consider to solve all problems, the one they consider the root of all evil yet, money, oh money, the sweet smell of your notes on my nose makes me feel like my dreams, all my hopes can come true. but then you are just a paper, one paper, a mare pare that can acquire so much meaning yet, not everything.
i want everything yet, i don’t want everything, i am confused, frustrated.
something! oh yes, i feel something running out of my hands, leaving my fingers, no! what is this? am empty, i need something, i ran here and there yet, nothing
the tears try to come from my eyes but, i try to hold them back yet, they fall, they fall, i brace myself as i see the tears run down my cheeks and exclaim no! am not weak, am only human, human with blood in her veins, with a heart that pumps blood and beats so fast
so much adrenaline, so many voices in my head, i feel the rush, i am shaking i am still shaking still, i want it all, but, not all of it