• My being is a complicated french braid of contradictions.
    My left eye sees all the vibrant shades of life,
    while my right eye sees everything with a grey undertone.
    My third eye is far from blind, in fact, I fancy it
    to be deaf. My deaf third eye allows me to see
    the shadows of dust motes as they swim through the air.
    Is that your used skin cell I see drifting from curtain to carpet?
    I grind my teeth in vain as my bare toes dig into this
    scratchy rug. My fingers dance on every surface possible,
    and sometimes the most impossible.
    I’ve run a finger along the side of a make-believe rock formation on
    Jupiter, traced my chipped nails through the fourth dimension.
    Sometimes, I cry for the flies that die every minute.
    I wish everyone everywhere a happy birthday, though they celebrate
    their un-birthdays just as often.
    I take joy in carving hearts in trees, pretending it’s my own skin.
    If only someone loved their partner enough to
    declare it on my white calf.
    A treasure map of scars and tear-stained lullabies, everything seems to take a dark turn to a dead end.
    Am I misleading?
    Twists and turns in valleys and molehills from sea to shining
    plant holder. From plastic fruit to fake books, a trick of the 3D eyeglasses
    to believe in a monster hiding in our toilet paper rolls.
    Plank, plank, give me a pet owl, a messenger toad, a cat who snacks on ears,
    a good luck charm made of rabbit’s feet and peacock candy.
    I am Thor, I flaunt my screwdriver and ride my quad into the unknown terrain beyond
    the second star to the right.