Sometimes I feel like an angler fish
and this body feels like ocean.

I’m somewhere
in here. I’m lost.
You see more of me than I know what to do with.

I’m still catching the waves
that the teen-aged version of myself
bellyflopped into tides
when he thought
I’m too big to be loved.

Except ‘loved’ meant everything.
I’m too big to be happy.
I’m too big to be handsome.
I’m too big to be seen.

I still watch thinner people do things
and know
that no matter how many lights I turn off
there’s still a reflective surface somewhere
that knows
that no matter how high I learn to jump
from this skin in a moment’s notice
it’s still an ocean I’m cannonballing back into.

That no matter how much I sweat
this ocean;
double-chinned and love-handled
does not know how to be a pond.