you'd think this would be another poem about
the rhythmic disturbance of insomniac instances
of ideas playing themselves out like cascading
tumbling forces wearing holes in the soles of their
metaphoric shoes as I use big words to stump you
into believing that you know what I'm talking about
but the truth is that you don't know and you won't know
but you turn it around and put it under a microscope
and you analyze my syntax and my use of frantic diction
and you tell yourself that you know what I'm feeling
because you used all of the methods they taught you
but who are they and how do they know what it means
to be awake at all hours of the night not because of
insomnia but because the thoughts of inferiority won't
let me be because I let myself believe too many things
and they are the tireless echoes of ghosts in the nighttime
that refuse to give me
peace.

I am inferior... Semilunar, even. It's on nights like these that I can taste the stars. They shine almost as brightly as your eyes.

Your eyes continue to amuse me, to consume me... I suffocate, deprived of key elements of freedom.

A conscience says a lot about a person. Your conscience is as pure as gold. Why don't you bite down on me? See if I am authentic. I promise you that I am worthy. We are worthy.

The sky's teasing crescent is enough to push you to let go. You are so in love with the idea of a world beyond Earth. I can see a whole solar system in your eyes' smile.

You admit that this is a new kind of journey for you. It's a journey all the way through my mind. I'm aware that things are still a bit behind.

I guess now we are looking for more than just a shallow dip. We want deep water. We want the opportunity to drown.

You know, the only way to truly satisfy me would be to reveal your methods of survival... My favourite scent rolls off the tight knot that is your tongue. Cherries.

You dismantle my heart and then build it back up, by my side. You say that you love me and begin to cry. It is beautiful. The misery even surprises you. I see no teardrops.

Amongst others, we have to stay in touch with who we are... For there is no more than one person displayed in my shadow.

Because my body belongs to me. It is mine and mine only. It is a home. I invite you to come and sit by the fireplace... My heart is a fire... Your eyes are its flames.

There is a blue bird sitting on
a fence post, faded,
staring at a fatherly-made
house.
Entry is refused as the belongings
(or leftover garbage)
from the previous occupants is still obtained.
This must be what it is like
to lose your virginity!
I have been trying to find
the sense of home
drowning in our separated garage.
It's never as strong as I hope
or believe it will be
and that's fine.
This is acceptance.
Nothing is bullet-proof,
but predator-resistant.
Spoonfuls of courage must have been
fed to me
willingly
in my sleep
for today I am no victim.
On this day, I am no longer chained
to the inferiority
pressed upon me.
I am free.