by jami montano
It’s to remember and to feel, to hurt more than ever intended upon ourselves.
So when we forget, we pull them out of dusty chests in our attics.
To cry, to feel, to not forget.
To feel immature and stupid about allowing our former underdevelopedÂ minds be the ones to raise us.
We meditate over busted sunflowers.
We meditate in forced isolation.
We redrink our booze
rethink our position per day
Digging through dimensions, finding every bit of ourselves materialized and tangible.
Finding ourselves sadists.