Uh, oh.

Suddenly the poems I wrote was feather

With heart shaped squiggles in the end

Written with gel pen glitters.

And suddenly the sonnets make sense

No questions asked, no second thoughts,

Words were formed for the exact moments.

And every lyrics become narrations

Like fate made stories,

Conceal it in beats, then decipher itself.

And the sun doesn't burn too much anymore

Just the right light, and warm touch

That blushes my cheeks just enough.

Everything suddenly make sense.

Yet still the same.

Not perfect.

Exact.

Right.

Oh.