Updated: Sep 7
I love it. Sometimes it won't let me like it. Can neither avoid it nor absorb all of it. Wilted, covered in guilt, I decry from it as I ex-split it.
We can hum a song of six pens that contain locks, chains, captives, and veins covering everything from wrists, ankles, hearts and brains.
I wish we could use this art form to formula an equation similar to 1 plus 2 for the sake of 360 degrees.
With all the different ways we can weave through words. The choice to use positive or protest language is rarely observed. Battles using words has now spilled onto the streets. It's complex and obsessed, lucrative, deathly, and defeats.