Green, stringbean bodies.
  Neon skin, the color of
a lime being crushed
  underneath a heel.

Tell me about earth,
  I could hear the voice
in my head. Like a
  radio being crumbled
up into a ball and
  thrown into my
train of thought.

Earth?

Yes, Earth. Tell us about it.

Us?

There are forty-million listening.

Oh. Well, Earth. Earth. Earthy-Earth.
  Earth is full of humans, like me.
People. Humans are people.
  And people are hell.
In No Exit, there are these--

We've read No Exit.

You've read No Exit?

We've read everything humanity
has published, in a matter of
  m o m e n t s.
You aren't as developed as you
seem to think you are.

What was the best thing you read?

We were partial to
Last Exit to Brooklyn.
Now, back to our question:
tell us about Earth.

If you've already read everything,
why do you need to ask,
let alone ask me?

You are the most
insignificant person
on this planet.
We are interested
in your thoughts.

I'm insignificant?

Yes.

Oh. I see.
Earth... Well, people...
People are beautiful.
The Earth is beautiful.
What makes us gorgeous
is our growth and our
desire to progress.
What makes us dazzling
is our belief that
a collective happiness and
an individual happiness
is both attainable
and sustainable.
Now, **** me
and annihilate
my planet, already.
That's why you're here,
right?

No. We're here to
harvest your women
and to colonize
everyone else.
You just persuaded us
to breed with your women.

But, that's ****.
And colonizing?
That's slavery.

We've read everything
your planet has ever written.
**** and slavery has been
encouraged on your planet
since your brief breath of
e x i s t e n c e.

-

I’m in a new city at a club close to your office,  
sitting at a table, wondering what you will think of me
The bar is crowded, happy hour is in full swing
but basically a blur to me as I watch the front door intently,  
every person entering makes my heart skip a nervous beat

I check my watch, again…5:16
It should be any moment now, I hope
Another sip of my drink, my second this afternoon,
needing a third I think, maybe not when the door opens,
I see you walk in, I think it’s you

Gorgeous brown eyes scan the place
as I wave slightly hoping you see, recognize me
You do and I stand clumsily almost spilling my glass
I can’t contain my smile as yours illuminates the room,
you are more beautiful than the photos

A thousand frantic butterflies invade my stomach
and my knees feel weak, it is finally happening  
I smooth my hair with my hand, a stupid habit
Moving towards you, I can’t stop staring, you are so beautiful
Time has switched to slow motion

So long I have waited for this, so very long
to meet you in person, gaze into your eyes,
touch you and know you are real
I weave through the partying patrons
and reaching you I say “Hi.”

Hi? I had this perfect dialogue planned,
It was so romantic and all I can get out is hi? How pathetic is that?
I wait what seems like forever for your response
You reply “Hi.” It is the sweetest sound I have ever heard,
as the place now has gone quiet to me except for your voice

“I have a table over here,” and sweating like a high school kid
on his first prom, I lead you to our seats
I am still staring, I can’t stop “Can I get you something?”
You take my hand and whisper, “ I have everything I need now”
I melt right where I sit and realize, I am falling in love all over again…

I wish the traveling circus were still around to run away to. It's not about being afraid to leave as much as it is needing a place to go. But my father was a mountain and my mother was a hole. And we're caves, mouths open and full of the cold. Been sitting so long myths have been made about the things that live inside us. The children come on dares to look in there. And yell in fear, at first only to have those sounds echo back. Then they laugh. There was never anything to be afraid of. Our bodies are full of that noise. Mostly the laughter. It lasts longer. It feels better. But is easier to forget because no one ever learned anything by laughing as much as being brave. You have to be scared to be brave. And moving from this place takes the strength of an earthquake sometimes. But you should know, your hands will never be big enough to hold all the rubble when the mountain crumbles. I remember when the cancer hit. The chest x rays from when they removed the portocath. Backlit, your chest resembles a busted cemetery gate from some ghost scene in a Sherlock Holmes movie. Broken. From letting all your ghosts go. And don't focus on all the things your hands can't hold. Your head fits just fine. Your hand. Cupped over your mouth to catch all your sighs. Can hold a cup of coffee to give to someone. Flowers. A poem. Tonight. Tonight you realize you're a mountain twice removed. A marble statue. So strong and so beautiful people will come a long ways just to see you.

Sweet, kind and thoughtful.
Those are the words you used to describe me that day,
the day I almost told you too much,
the day I almost broke my own rules again.
I may be those things, but you can tell,
somehow, sense somewhere,
that it's a barely maintained show
I put on for you, and all the rest.

You know, and I know, that I don't belong
in your bed, or in your heart.
Ask the ones who've come before what it's like
to wake up in the middle of the night
and find me sleeping on the floor,
or to have me claw my way out of a heart.

Brought down by hands and hearts and eyes,
hands to break, hearts to bind, and eyes to lie.

You know, and I know, that I don't belong
in your hands, or even on your street.
With my body in your hands I still
won't unfold from my ol' time contortion,
waiting for the dream to end and the bomb to drop.
And you'll spend nights wondering at four in the morning,
while I'm wandering down your empty road with my soul on fire.

I'd love you with all I am, in my fashion,
the way that keeps half of me always away from you.
There are doors that I'll never open for you,
secrets you'll never tear out of my throat,
rooms in my heart walled up and left for those
long after to come and break into.

It's alright though, since you're movin along,
and I'll be movin on too soon, but I guess it's good,
good that we met each other since you've exorcised
one of my ghosts, and I hope that maybe I've helped
in giving you a little bit of hope for all that's left out there.

They tell us to break the mold,
but sometimes the mold is too big to begin with.

Think outside of the box, they say,
expecting us to know how unique we must be to do so.

They tell us that the sky is the limit,
and then say to push the limits.

Us teenagers,
we're supposed to be invincible.
Right?

Plastered everywhere are the words,
"You must love yourself before anyone else can love you."

And that's why we're doomed.

Because self-loathing has poisoned all of us,
and for some,
that's what keeps them trying so hard to fit the mold.

Sometimes "the box" is the safest place to curl up and cry in.

Our insecurities are what keep us grounded,
unable to reach the stars.

So thank you,
society.
Because the standards you have set are bigger than the standards you have actually set.

And that's why we're doomed.