I Dream of a Boy

The Happy Place


I dream of a boy
A frail boy
With limbs like a bird’s
A boy to snap in two

I dream of a boy
Head looking like a teacup
See my boy has but one ear
The other, I talked off

I dream of a boy
Palms rough as a metal sponge
Scrubbing away at burnt pots
With me, for me

I dream of a boy
That’s all edges and no curves
Breakable and not bendable
Breaking only for me

I dream of a boy
His soul buried up up in my attic
His body, sleeping in my bed
His mind, wandering somewhere in Yaba

I dream of a boy
With one million teeth
Fighting to fit in his mouth
His mouth constantly open from the struggle

I dream of a boy
Whose sense of beauty
Starts with my face
And ends with my feet

I dream of a boy

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I Write In Order to Feel Whole

Something to Move You...

As a child, I lived mostly in my head. I was lonely and had no voice in my own home so, as a result, I made a world for myself in my mind. When that world got too tiresome or boring, I would spice it up with the people and places that I read of in books. I wanted to be extroverted, to be gregarious, to be liked by everyone. This didn’t always happen. My peers often thought that I was too weird, too smart, too quiet. Sometimes, they mistook my near-debilitating shyness for aloofness and snobbery. But when it did happen, when I was part of a clique of those shiny, happy people, even when I was the center of attention, I would inevitably feel like a fraud. I’d spend hours, sometimes days, wondering if my friends would like me so much if and when they discovered that I…

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