"I'm broke."
Why?
Why are we broken?
Who broke us?

I'm surrounded by a sea of people
As far as the eye can see
All flowing in the same direction
And just floating along, is me

I've been wading in this water
Letting it carry me any way
Not caring about which direction
And never having any say

After wading all this time though
My legs started growing tired
So finally it was time to choose
Which direction I desired

But the problem with floating along
Was that I never became aware
I wasn't really a part of the waves
I was just sort of...there

What I wanted didn't matter
The waves still moved as one
Whether I moved with or against them
Didn't matter in the long run

Then I thought I better get out
And give myself some time to think
But I couldn't see the shore anymore
And with that, I started to sink

Now I'm surrounded by a sea of people
As far as the eye can see
All still flowing in the same direction
But drowning in it, is me

tell me a secret my summersoft beauty
can you tell the difference between something good and something bad?
when you're needing to be needed
look up and the moon
and promise to return to me one day.
very soon.

I remember
The way I was taught symmetry

Butterflies.

The pattern of their wings,
I was told,
Is a perfect example
Of consistency
Each wing
Will always match the other

I once saw a butterfly
With a missing wing
Unable to do
What butterflies are supposed to do

Fly.

In other words
Useless

My wings
Are not always even
Does that mean
That I too,
Am useless
Or am I still
Worth existing?

Not everything good in life
Is balanced
Or congruent
We are not geometry
We are living

The most perfect things
Are the ones
That don't match up
Perfectly.

I've been told I'm cynical
by  a hippie with dreadlocks.
No, I don't want to try molly with you.

I've been told that cuddling is better in the cold
by a boy with an enviable smile, wearing a striped sweater.
Let's make a book of comfortable sleeping positions for couples.
With the bed as the office, and the sheets for a desk.

I've been told that I'm too old for hugs
by the contributor of half my genes.
I love you too.

People tell me things
and usually I don't listen.
But sometimes I do.

This is for the boys that don't get poems written about them.
The ones with bad acne and figurine collections.
Because one day you'll outgrow your acne
and a girl will find you charming instead of awkward.
And she'll want you to kiss her but you'll be too nervous.
But she'll be nervous too.

There's no way to talk about fate without sounding pretentious, but I will try.
You were exactly what I needed precisely when I needed it.
I needed you to be far away so I could nourish my independence and learn how to love something without touching it. Because no one taught me you don't have to touch everything you hold dearly. Sometimes the things we love have to remain under glass cases.
And sometimes to touch something is to hurt it.
I needed you to not need me as much as I needed you.
I needed you to ignore my advances.
I needed you to be snarky.
I needed you to have brown hair and eyes the size of saucers.
I needed you to have an affinity for otters
So you could tell me that thing about how they hold hands so they don't drift apart.

I don't know how to end this poem, but I will try.
It was you in the red sweater with the white birds.
It was your neutral expression.
It was that you were up late and willing to chat.
These are the things that made you the exception.

Mommy said if he's mean it's because he likes you.
She said boys are backwards and upside down.
She said boys are young dumb and fullofcum.
She said close your eyes when you fall so you don't see how much it's going to hurt.

I still have bruises, she said.