Birthplace in my birthphase

I´m being born in a car to the sounds of a tune on what used to be a radio, but now is something born out of numbers.

I´m born in my bed opening my eyes to the sound of my breath fighting for it´s life

I´m born in the instance that I open the refrigerator looking for something I feel like eating

I´m born choosing which clothes to wear on my way to work, friends, school, engagements.

I´m born walking out the door meeting the weather, the context and the constant sounds of the suburbs.

I´m born trough the feelings of my feet touching the ground. Sometimes heavy, sometimes light, sometimes fast, furious and anxious, sometimes quick, happy and excited.

I´m born looking at you, at us, the people, and at the extra extras read al about it! I´m born scenting the freshly made bread at the bakery, the muffled sensation of alcohol as I pass by the not yet woken liqourstore.

I´m born overlooking the amass books on sprawling themes, striving to gather a meaningful life. I´m born in every millisecond, and I´m not even slightly there.

I´m born as your waves touch my hearing, I´m born as you open the door and give me your hellos. I´m born in conversations and metaphysic senses on which day it was; the happy, the racist, the giving, the ordinary.

I´m born as a contradistinction to letting time fly and bring me closer to death.

I´m born on Wednesday, Tuesday, Friday or even  Sunday, I´m born in the evening, the morning, the sunrise, the sunset, facing the full, new half moon. I´m born in front of a fire, with my back against a cold rock sucking the heat out of me, I´m born not fully letting my feet lift from the ground in the cold black lake, I´m born in the future, in history but merely ever now. I´m born under sticky branches, on a horsback, in a barn, on a pavement, in an elevator, in aw, in spite, in horror, in shame, in jealousy in laughter in vain

I´m born, and doing it and doing it and doing it again. I may be yet to be born.

 

Let that dwell