Ballerina

Hold me down like the wafting aroma of pleasantries,
That make me stay.
Comfort is only comfort when I am amused by staying here forever,
In which case,
Comfort is unbeknownst to me.
Elaborate your survival,
It is yours and yours alone to be cherished.

Show me what it’s like to make metaphors that aren’t about being afraid.

Show me what it’s like to dance like a fool but look like a ballerina.

Show me what it’s like to rest on someone’s chest without your lungs giving in.

My heart skips when you’re here but it does anyway;
And I am confusing my comfort for love.
I am afraid of confusing my illness for love:
(I am afraid of being in pain alone,
And now your presence is romance to me.)
Your skin is home to me.
More home than mine ever was,
But at least in this court I am a ballerina.
A ballerina with a crooked spine:
A laugh and a teardrop,
Your skin and my unwavering curiosity,
My scar and your fingers laced with ecstasy,
Your eyes and my unfiltered childish amusement,
My anxiety and your spontaneity,
The courtyard and the court,
The silence in retrospect and my unbridled provocation,
Your lies and my convenience,
My shoulder and my resolve,
Your hair and your disillusionment,

I’m relearning the art of loving myself,
And by god you’re the smartest man I know.