Happy Birthday TVO

Of broken glass and reflections

I have a very annoying friend that would always tease me about releasing a poem or being very poetic for my birthdays. I guess I haven’t exactly broken his jinx. Because the next few words may hit like a poem. Or maybe a verse off a poem, I’m not entirely sure. But I feel how I feel when I write poetry. I feel the subtle linings of foreigners in my veins gushing off surreal words and lines and images. All feeling so pleasant and…well…foreign? Sorcery hushing off my lips in a really gentle tone that often leaves me breathless, I sometimes wonder how I find the strength to finish, to take it to the end without…breathing. In and out this poem escapes me…released into a life of its own. Making me wonder if I had only been a passage or a sage, stealing these words without thinking…without reflecting…with no references. So forgive me if once again I share a very shady poem on my birthday. It flows within my veins.