You Can Claim What you Want, But I was once a 5-year-old Hunter and Know What goes on - Scribbling

Bare Hand Skims a liquid vat of atmosphere
air running across skin lifts and pulls
pleads and screams, drops and rises
a rythmic dictionary of sensations propped by the same
dichotomy seen in fear and faith
different spectrums of the same whole
distinctions based off of perspectives and pasts
neither lesser nor greater, but deliberate intention
yielding ideal result. The quote echoes again like the
jarring hum of my hand reaching out the window, breaking the continuity;
The world doesn't need changed, it needs people to come alive.