"So all of this was because you liked me?"

"No, my love,
when I sang Ave Maria to wake you up to see you,
when I complained about the peach fuzz on your chin,
when I called you a ***** *** and that all you want is a hole to bone,
when I teased you for the way you say "hackneyed,"
when I walked over to smell and "guess" your shampoo (I'd known already),
when I let you cheat on games,
when I made fun of the constant holes in your socks,
when I decided to learn about baseball to figure out what so great about it,
and when I smacked you on the leg with a spatula for getting cheeky with me in the kitchen...
those were because I liked you.

But when I woke up two hours before you to make you breakfast,
when I sing sad love songs to you in my imagination,
when my tread skips a beat,
when I got so angry that someone talked bad about you
      and I wanted to ******* rip their meaty heads off,
when my heart breaks to hear your hardships,
when I stayed up with you until 3:00 in the morning on the roof before I gave up
      or again until 5:00 in the morning indoors a week before you left
when I didn't move away from you when our arms touched,
when I learned you stood up proudly gay in this brave new world
when I see you on an angle and you look so serious,
      so pensive, so handsome and I sigh, sigh, sigh from afar
those were because I loved you.

And the list can go on and on and on."

Jaws cracking
eyes watering
inhaling so deep

heavy eyelids
and a drooping head
don't fall asleep

sleep is fickle,
get it where you can
and if you don't have insomnia

BE GLAD.

There are few things worse
than lying awake,
clock blinking, glowing in your eyes.

Your watch beeps,
a bell chimes
3:00 in the morning

again.

You're so awake
you wanna go out
but you can't.

It's too late.
early?
dark.

The cracks in your ceiling
are so fascinating.
The cat at your side is
warm.
purring.

orange.

It should be soothing
should put you to sleep.
But it won't.
Never does.

How long can you go without sleep
before you go mad as a hatter?
Down, down, down the rabbit hole of dreams...

snapped away from the brink.
Damnable sirens!
Damnable insomnia...

Sun's rising. What now?
Get up. Get dressed.
You've a life to live.

Foundation covers the circles under your eyes.
Tea or coffee keeps you running.
Insomnia keeps you awake.

Always has.

Always will.

sometimes you ask me
where i go
when i seem so far out of reach
staring out my window
stopping short
half way through
a conversation about
me and you
and you get upset
when I sigh and tell you
that I
forget
cuz when i go to that
place
it leaves no sign
no trace
that i was ever there...
i watch as you try
to understand
why
i act the way i do
but i just smile
cuz i know
you'll be waiting
a while
cuz i haven't even
figured it out for
myself yet...
all i can say
is that i love you
today
and that really is
the best that
i can do
cuz the only thing
between me and
you
is your inability
to accept me
for me.

You asked me what I was thinking about.
It was you.
Always you.
Sometimes naked.
Sometimes not.
Depends.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
do not let them forget what stars are made of.
Stars are not glitter, not stickers on the ceiling,
not there for decoration.
Stars are chunks of collapsing galaxy. They are
hundred-thousand mile wide nuclear furnaces
that consume their surroundings into death.
They are not friendly; they do not exist
to write poems about.
Stars are not made of metaphors. You
are not made of other people’s words.

When they tell you you are made of stars.
look them in the eye and remind them
that so are they, and so is the earth,
and so is the gum on the bottom of your shoes,
and so is the fist you will hit them with
the next time they try to placate you
with their condescending words –
When they tell you you are different from others,
ask them why you should want to be.

Do not let them call you foreign.
Do not let them trap you up on a pedestal,
surrounded by books that cannot hurt them.
Read things that can hurt them.
Your mind is a forest richer than folklore;
do not let your curiosity be reduced to an accessory.
Your intelligence is not a fashion statement.
Your existence is not a novelty.
You are not a metaphor
for someone else’s problems.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you have always known this.
Tell them you have fire in your bone marrow,
that you are burning with the deaths
of the entire universe before you.

When they tell you you are made of stars,
tell them you know.
Tell them they should keep their distance.