My mother said we were different.
Round peg, square hole,
but you still put your red peg right through my chest
as my heart was the minefield where you and me played battleships
till we sank into moonlight on a blanket in
your yard smoking cigarettes.
That blanket was my starship and your yard my volcano
as I couldn't be less square than
the night I said I love you, I love you.

That night you manoeuvred my body
like you had a map of my soul engraved
in the palm of your hand,
crafting me into stanzas with rhythm
even Shakespeare could not teach.
My syllabic speech echoing your rhyme
as you read between my lines
that were no longer straight.

My mother said we were different.
That we didn't fit, that I didn't fit in.
That love is not a feeling
but is a bicycle you learn to ride.
That true love is something to hide
at the bottom of your closet for
no one else to find.

No, closets are for clothes and bicycles for forests
as love is falling into dirt with your mouth wide open.
It is dancing naked to Nirvana at 3am
Screaming come as you are.
Please, come as you are.
I will never change your shape so that you fit me,
and I will never erase the lines that make you frown
or make you smile.


My mother said we were different.
Geometry was never my thing.
Thats just the way I am.