I forget, I ever forget that I have no wings and am bound to this spot.
Eager, wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange world.
My breath comes to me whispering of impossible hope.
My tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
Evidently I lost touch with reality. But being in India was my new reality.
If I were to write poetry about my experience (it would really suck) but besides sucking, it would consist of me struggling with my inherantly imperialist presence in India in opposition to my journey becoming a man.
Sleeping in bird shit is fine as long as you're with loved ones.
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