I was born once and many times more after that first one.

That means I also died before all of those times I was born, but I don’t remember that time.
Fortunately and sadly, because then maybe I wouldn’t feel so afraid of letting go.

I have moved and I have changed after every birth. Because I wanted to but also because I had to. Sometimes because there was no other option.
That was death and I didn’t knew and every time I realized it I tend to forget it all over again.
Everyday dramas are so distracting
So frustrating
So exciting
So exhausting.

I was once in that place where I was born the first time and it didn’t felt like home
So I left
Kept moving
Kept dying
Still found no home
But found a path
and it’s called Art.