Sometimes I forget that I'm the owner of my body
and I'm not just housesitting until the person whose home it really is gets back from vacation.

Thankfully whoever lives here always leaves me a roster that includes a list of the people in her life
so I don't embarrass her with my social ignorance.

Yesterday, she left me with the person she had labeled as "boyfriend" in her reference contact list.
And even though I didn't recognize him as mine,
when I stole glances for intel purposes,
I felt this surge of emotion
like she had left the electricity running in the room she dedicated to him.

I'm hesitant to tell you that I love you,
because the last time I left my heart on someone's doorstep,
she left it out in the rain.

So pardon me for finally nursing it from its two year bout of pneumonia.

Because even though there are shots that prevent cooties,
I'm sorry to say that modern medicine has yet to find the cure for heartbreak.

If fathers teach their sons the art of shaving,
shouldn't mothers teach their daughters the intricacy of doing and undoing bras?

Unfortunately, this world isn't a utopia for gender role demos,
so I'd appreciate it if you didn't laugh at me
while I fumble to get you *******.

I wish that I had gotten an extended warranty on my body.

Who will I turn to now
when it falls apart at the seams?

Maybe if I hadn't tossed out the how-to manual...

...though I have a sneaking suspicion that it was blank,
and wasn't worth the paper it wasn't printed on, anyway.

I feel like my entire life has been about falling
(falling in love, falling to pieces, falling down stairs, etc.).

When you're teetering on something precarious, like air,
people tell you not to look down,
not to open your eyes.

But I've gone a step beyond just shutting my eyes.
I keep my hands fastened over them,
as an extra layer of protection,
because I'm afraid if my contrary nature gets the best of me
and the screws holding my hands in place loosen,
I'll give in and take a peek,
peering up instead of down,

But I won't see a suspect looming over the edge of the cliff that last saw me grounded.
And the only culprit for my plunge...
...will be me.

I asked, "Should I shave?"
You said that you didn't care.
I said, "I love you."