The brush of your steps.

I wrote this while awaiting a ferry to go to my friends' wedding in Poros, Greece. It was an enlightening moment fueled with a bit of travel exhaustion -- but at this point I'm happy to say that's become the norm. Maybe it was never about the traveling. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is my drug of choice, but maybe the initial thought of traveling, of visiting new places and cultures, of immersing yourself into the curiosities of centuries of great and poor decisions that create what we call cities, maybe that was just a facade. I begin to realize this as I type away in some bench at a bus stop in Athens, Greece. My flight into Athens landed at 4:00am, which was essentially the worst time one can arrive at any city, although i’ll give New York and Barcelona props on being one of the few places i’d leave the airport knowing the city was inexplicably still alive. Anyways, back to my point: as I sit in this bench, I observe people from everywhere, some rushed a

Their screaming to come out of me, I open the page and we go from white to black with nobody to stop me I'm just spitting, maybe lyrically, hysterically They don't even hold hands but word per word its what I could land But fuck it, what does it matter It's a twisted spin on when I use to utter gold But I guess we go back to basics when the truth unfolds All we see is the need, the greed, and honesty holding strong. So here we are flowing down the purity Cruising like we've already forgotten, We have it in us but why look deep inside when we're standing in a house of cards So pick a card any card Here's where the magic from a shooting star Motivated me to move past the opposing war I rose in silence painting it black to get it out of me But at the end of the day lets realize one thing We fought to stand on the shoulders of our ancestors, We climbed the walls and looking down realized, The first man we stood on was our former self. So le