When our lips touch it didn’t quite feel the same maybe because somehow I knew someone else took away the taste I was hoping for.

Welcome back from the break.
Last time I checked, I was a social outcast,
now I'm a godless heathen by margins
too expansive to measure.
You expect me to do what?
Break down, scrape my face with a muzzle?
No, I think for my sake,
I will embrace disdain,
disgrace, displacement, as if my blood is
dependent on it, just less than water.
Welcome back to
the decadent disaster,
robotic masterpiece of emulation,
emulating emotion it once contained.
It was exposed to Alexithymia,
undiagnosed for too long,
and can't grasp that anyone might return
feelings of love, lust, or interest,
with any sincerity.

Please, touch my face.
Draw me out, as if your hands were the pens
bringing life to still frames.
Please, touch my skin.
Make promises that my rusted metal
must hold more than debris.

i wish there were more ways to say that i found an oasis in the form of your touch
i wish i could count the pains that i carry like satchels everyday
strung off my shoulders
i wish i knew why i refused to let them fall
i wish gravity would just have its way with me
toss me aside and find a new giddy little thing to run this so called world
i wish i knew how to tell you that i want to be a bird
not because they can fly away from here
not because they grace their homes with bright colored feathers i could never adorn
but because they are hollow
they are hollowed out, weak, frail and somehow it makes them stronger
or perhaps i wish not to be hollow
but to filled with something other than you

My tongue moves
as metaphors
washing up against sandy shores
to gently break and build
the beach
to how it stood
just years before.