My clothes are on, yet I feel naked. Maybe it has a lot to do with your whisper, charmingly brushing through my neck. It’s a kind of soul-stripping, definitely good and strong, feelings and vibrations rushing through a soul sister like me. From my toes, soles of my feet to my songs and their beats, I feel it. I like it because it’s the kind that makes me want to preach. It reaches down, making my heart skip a beat, like tick … Then tick … And again, tick … because unlike a clock, I don’t have to tock. I just talk, and you listen. Sometimes, with your naked eyes, you watch my timid self. And then I am coy and lost, while you’re fully wearing just your presence.
But with clothes on, this nudity is stupidity; yet a beautiful serendipity. Because I found myself, once more at a place where I am able to say sorry. And when I touched the ground, it felt alright, like we were only starting to be close to a different yet tight pace. For you are lenient, and moving anti-clockwise. Because unlike the planet’s movement, you just lose control. And then have control. Lose control. And then have it. And like a wise man, I understand that language. So I stop, stand and take it in. And even though I can’t speak it or of it, it inspires me, so I rise and write.
I wear not clothes, but adorn them. Similarly though a loner, my spirit isn’t weary of those lovers that come along to adore me, yet disguised as outfits. Because I realize that if the shoe fits, I still don’t have to wear it. Instead I have to let [it], be worn by me … You should get sued, for robbing my vulnerability … But how could anyone be against your ability? To see that I was there even before you came. And to believe I see that you were here, even before I left. For we could have been anywhere in this cold world, but it’s right here where I feel undressed yet dressed; that’s calm, warm and absolute.