No matter our race or color or creed
or way of life or species or breed.
No matter our height or girth or scent,
we all hate Donald because Donald is a ******* ****.

we get it, poets. things are like other things.
this is a familiar concept to us all so why do we speak in metaphor all the time?

it is because when we tell you we feel like our insides are on fire,
we feel as though we are a house that is burning down until all that remains is a fragile frame accompanied by a pile of ash,
it is not a metaphor

it's a simile, notice my use of like or as

but it is not a metaphor

when you stick a cigarette between your teeth you do not fail to light it
the thing that does the killing will **** you
and you will let it

when you write down the exact amount of pills you took and the number of days you felt worthless tallied into your stretch marks
there is no metaphor there

my poetry isn't metaphor
it is a direct reflection of honest to god feelings
I have never written a poem not meant literally

we get it, poets. things are like other things.
but that is a simile.
things are not other things.
we do not speak in metaphor.

it is not uncommon for my younger brother to ask me for help picking out his clothes
but today
he took off his shirt to try on a new one and stopped, looking down, viewing that his stomach stuck out past his chest as most little boys do and said
"I think I'm kinda fat"
he is eight years old
I could probably fit one hand around his entire thigh
he pokes and prods at skin that won't give because what he thinks is fat is simply keeping his organs in
he has already been preconditioned to believe he is not enough
or he is too much
he is eight years old
I don't know whether to tell him he isn't 
or to explain to him that he would not be any less valuable if he were because I don't want him to take it as an insult
I don't want him to feel hurt
like I do every time I see myself in a photograph
he is half my age
I ask him why and he grabs his stomach and says
"I see fat"
he is eight years old

hold me like a wish
like dandelions are sprouting from my cheeks
even if they are weeds
hold me like dandelions on my cheeks
or an eyelash on yours
hold me like I'm yours
hold me like I'm more
than what she told me
tell me I'm so much more
hold me gently
hold me like safety
from the bomb
she held me like the safety
on a gun
I promise whatever I do it won't be leaving as long as you don't hold me like you're about to run
hold me like you want to keep me
she held me like she broke me in the store and figured she'd take me home since I'd had to be paid for
hold me like I'm more
like you saved every penny even though you found me secondhand at a thrift store
like both of your feet are soundly in the door
hold me like I'm yours
I'll hold you like your mine
we'll carry ourselves like we don't belong to anyone
and for the first time, it won't be a lie
I'll hold me like I'm mine
I'll hold me like I'm mine

my heart doesn't work
this isn't an angsty teenage metaphor
it leaks
and there is a depression in my heartbeat
my veins are weak

my heart has four chambers like four quarters of my lineage
and one half is made of shame
my grandfather unknowingly instilled in me
with the pain
carried in her pelvis
my weak veins are built of his DNA
so much of my body is made up of shame
I wonder if he'd even known her name

my heart doesn't work
this isn't an angsty teenage metaphor
I feel more than anyone I've met before
my core aches with a pain that isn't even mine
I carry shame
throw it like pebbles out to sea
so it'll skip over my son
when he looks up at me
his heartbeat will be lively and carry our name
there will be no leakage in his veins
and when I hold him
we will not know any shame