She enters her mid-twenties like your mother sneaks into your room at midnight to check if you're asleep or still on the line.
She celebrates her birth with the God that is too kind and the men who resembles swine.
She sits on her roof and dances in the sky the way an innocent prisoner rejoices a purged felony
She talks to herself like a sunbathing seal or a sleeping cat
She cares for her moods like a barista for the proportions
She sings herself to sleep like an artist blending shades
She rolls over to him like the calving iceberg
She wakes up in the morning like an Areca nut in witch's cauldron
She sips Americano like the virtues eating vices
She runs her errand the way Angels assist God
She cooks like water through cracks, making its way
Her meals are the only ones that taste Earth, others are Milkyway
She checks her goals like a tiger eyeing its prey
She riddles her pain as a poet's juxtapose
She mothers her belief like a long awaited baby
She fears..
Oh, nah she doesn't.

© lonely_geek