let's take off together
to where the horns and the bustle
blends the screeching of our lives
we'll feel the most whole we've ever felt
being assembled brick by brick
caressing the faces of buildings
the grout sticking to my toes
the body of bodies, never slowing
wearing down what I once was made of
the city has already been brought up
so we're infinitely building ourselves

I am no tidal wave
I do not crash onto your skin
leaving behind a salty sorrow
I am a puddle of dirt and pond water
my hair smells of the ocean
it rubs off onto me
from the tidal waves I swim through
but I will not rock your boat
I will fill it with leaks
I am no tidal wave

I'm hearing them more now
at least once a week
our doors and windows
we're sure to lock
the click polices our minds
or at least it's supposed to
no, it couldn't happen to us
crime is as foreign as across the ocean, right?
right?
so one more question
why are the sirens so loud?

school is the cage to my self-consciousness
I'm sure that everyone in the hallway
is analyzing my personality
I'm sure to **** in my stomach
so much that it makes my back sting
no, I have not lost weight
I've just found new ways to hide it
I'm sure that the hair on my fingers
is as long as the hair on my head
and that my voice is masculine
but not enough to be heard
and as I scrawl this on my math sheet
my hands shake
with the worry that someone will read this
a wind of confidence pulls me down the hallway
but the ship is full of mice
don't tell anyone
but I'm scared as hell

we whisper through the living room
as we slink out the front door
the grass is damp with our sorrows
as the stars shine in comfort
the darkness blankets our worries
and I see the flash of your lighter
a cigarette fills your lungs yet clears your head
the yellow streetlamp exposes our faces and minds
"I'm sorry," you murmur as I watch your lips dance
"don't be," I hush
my nightly paranoia is overcome
"you're even beautiful under a streetlight"

I am a moon
and she is my earth
my dusty craters are filled with darkness
and her gardens bloom in warmth
but when her sun shines no longer
I cast my light
I may be a rocky moon
but her tides flow for me

I long for the slow days

in which the sweat of our problems

drips from our skin

where the water we tread through

washes away our cares

the sun beats down our lingering worries

as we bask in the heat

of the better days