Sister In-Law C To C

The destiny in a stirred syrup. A two-string one. Condensed, sticky and uncomfortably glued to a cause. A mono in nature. Like a skilled handyman, with a must to-do space. A shared space. A shared controversy. A stained cloth. And an unapologetic face. I am not a math-pro. I hate numbers. And I don’t watch captain underpants. I am a freelance interpreter, where medical terms reach both male and female bodies, In the same manner. The office space is all about this. Equity. Up roaring hands in overturning platform. I wanted. I pleaded. I turned myself into a special spice in competition of her ethical or non-ethical one. My poetry is not an arrogant one. A mere self-sustaining one. To calm through the fiercest stormy nights. A mono. Where she needs rejection in knowledge, I earned in pristine. But both empty, folded beyond junkies. An arrogant junkyard, leading our visions, in seas, mountains and with these very own material eyes. C to C.