Refreshing the recommendations on Spotify,
Thinking of all the artists who created each and every song,
Refreshed,
Randomly like a fortune wheel,
It stops on a completely random song,
I play,
Kind of like a door, I open a certain universe, I've never been,
Sometimes I stay forever, repeating, to feel the music, to be melted in the moment,
Sometimes I run out leaving the door open,
I sometimes wonder how much doors I haven't closed,
And whether those universes collapsed with each other,
Maybe like what lesbians do, "U-Hauling",
Or maybe how sauces mix,
Bet there's millions of universes collapsing and drowning in each others muses,
The good and the bad,
Maybe that's what the universe is all about,
Emerging, Unfolded muses of each and every humans soul,
the lost ones, the found ones, the one's on a loop all year long, the one's out of touch, the one's who haven't realized,
Recycling, re-emerging, drowning,
And when someone feels a spark,
But they sleep on their lighters,
The universe flows and blooms suddenly on another soul,
Hoping maybe,
They would send a spark with their colorful lighters,
To somewhere, to someone, to be touched by that spark,
To remind another of their spark.
YOU ARE READING
30 Days inside a mind of a Lesbian Woman
PoesíaAloka Wijesinghe, a South Asian spoken word, freestyle lesbian poet currently based in Melbourne, Victoria found a totally random collection of prompts on the net, where she for each day painted its walls in different hues of First time love, Death...
