It’s hard to start explaining the surge of emotions as they move within my being. I’ve been states side for about a month or so now.
As a person used to the life in Cairo, being in New York for a month, has definitely been a step beyond my state of regular beingness.

Back home, people see me as the crazy one, the alternative hipster, with dreads, funny jackets and girl pants, Tattoos, earings, I mean some people in Cairo are the same but we are a minority, and as a minority we are cautious of how we wear ourselves outwards.

Being free in Egypt is not an option.
So what does one who suddenly has the option to be free do?

It can get overwhelming as an empathic being in a place like new York. Men wear make up and look like cartoon characters women wear no clothes making boners in men’s pants and make some women wet, or maybe it just rained. Men kiss men, women kiss women, two men and a woman, a group of them all doing it. And then there’s me; all so curious and shy, dumbfound, wanting to partake but afraid of being really free.

Afraid of getting a taste of that which I cannot make my own for too long. I dreamt of an Angel one day, only to discover she’s high up in the clouds. And I lost my wings when I was 7, My step mom ripped them off and sold them on the black market, then she cooked a piece of her dead grandma and ate it so she can always remember her. She was sick, this one, and she almost infected my dad, but 20 years later. He broke the curse.

Well, can I learn to fly again?

I watch as the sunsets and colors leave the sky. I remember when I first saw her two days ago At a circus hidden on a boat, down alleyways on the side of the river, where there are no boats.

I saw her, dancing alone. So I went and danced around her to pick up on her energy. That sweet scent of vibration running off her body as she shakes with the beat. The music takes me higher as I breathe in and close my eyes only to open them, Look around and she’s gone.

My mind obsessive, my past haunts me, my fears override, intimidated, I become when she smiles at me, I look at her and say hey, I am me who are you? I melt as she speaks her name and her story, and my heart beats harder my mind thinks all these things but my mouth can’t catch up.

She got me bad. Infatuation. The sweet lust of aura. Goddess of rhythm. She put her mask on, and abracadabra. I am enchanted.

can I tell her she’s so beautiful?

Her smile produces little dimples giving her face a cutness that curves down with her wavy her, a body so fit, you’d think you’re at an 80s disco party. Being around her my body seems to dance in ways, as though I am a bird putting out my mating call. I spin around, She disappears again.

I call out
Fearful of the not
How can I over come

I smoke and sit and write. Should I write to her?
Or should I wait till tomorrow and see how I feel then.

Another day in the life.