They told me I was galaxies that roam this infinite universe.
They told me that my mind was like the ocean; deep, unforgiving and fierce.
They told me that I reminded them of tall trees; so firmly grounded by my feet.
They told me I reminded them of black holes that floated with an air of mystery.
They told me I was like books, always curious about the history always seeking a chemistry.
They told me I was like the skies, at times clouded by thoughts but capable of causing hurricanes.
They told me I brought fire, the crackle in my voice and my ignited mind held dangers unknown to most.
But you see the thing is, I was so much more and yet perhaps a little too, human.
So I told them,
I told them that my mind wasn’t galaxies, it was mere stardust that craved to come together.
I told them that my body may be grounded but my head still roamed in the clouds.
I told them I preferred geography, mapping the surface of his skin and finding the warmth that erupted from within.
I told them I was like a firefly, if you looked closely enough you could see my insides burn.
I told them, I was too much and still, a little too human.
A little too contained by my flaws,
A little too ignorant of them all,
A little too insignificant for this world.
You see, I never really liked humans.
I never liked how we were so transient yet pretended otherwise.
How we believe we’re intellectuals yet still fail to grasp the realms of our own damn existence.
How we think we can create purpose when their really Is none,
How something as abstract as feelings is what makes us human.
And so, I decided to exist as everything and nothing.
But maybe sometimes being human was all I needed. A proposition I refused to consider.
Maybe my body wasn’t meant to be oceans but small rivers of flowing emotion.
Maybe I wasn’t quite a tree yet but my hands could heal just as well.
Perhaps not one of those tall rocky mountains but like those hills, so he could slide and glide off of my skin.
Because he told me that my skin, was temple he’d worship forever.
And that one day the broken pieces of this mirror? Would cut us both too deep.
But I have known joy, and every time reality overwhelms me I resort to making chocolate pies that’ll make you so carefully want to envelope your tongue around every inch of me.
And every part of me will carry storms so strong that the fear will make you lose control.
I will churn together words and build castles out of sentences and you? You will listen.
That’s when I’ll tell you, when the tables turn and across pegs whiskey so neat, I’ll tell you;
Honey, I was born a paradox.