On Management

The Itch


My poetry keeps me sane on this rainy night.

There is an itch, deep within.

A newly found freedom,

A newly found empty space in which to build.

Where to begin?


There is an itch, bubbling out in form of words.

Wild flights and wild ambitions- driving my world as ever.

I’m distracted. My imagination is my reality.

This helps me build. This helps me push against the walls.

But now the empty space around me- how do I build?

Where to begin?


Strong, fiery itch. I’m on a flight.

Building the air. Building the world. Creating it.

Then I realize my itch doesn’t affect the flow, the strength of my wings does.

She kisses below my ear then.

The itch is gone. We’re one. In our world. 

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