It’s April in February and I’m sick as a kickflip

“I really don’t know how to end that.

Sick as a buddy, guy, nug, dude,

My head just ain’t kicking the way it tends to.”

Here it is, that middle school kiss all over again.

The kiss of the first few warm breezes that cause flesh to yearn to be exposed

Takes me right to the center of the awkward, congealing dance hall.

Hair flutters from longboard flight, batters the eyes already watery.

Oral examinations about visiting doctors become statements of truth to me.

“Tengo mucho dolor en mi cabeza.”

Translates to my head is fucking bumping.

And even if I feel light and flaky,

Even if my stomach’s gates are locked up a little less tight today,

I can still keep kicking and making and moshing.

Nothing kicks the ass of a stomach bug like a meal eaten with gratitude

And a few solid hours of doing what makes you feel vibrantly alive.

The mentality can constrain and stain the future ugly colors,

But at its best is a safety net

That keeps me going and loving every bit of myself,

Even the viruses attempting to colonize my system can be converted.

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