how much we mean - 2/16/22

They could be just like me

I saw them with the same brown eyes

With the same wide eyes

With that ever-present ache and pining at the pang of foreign recognition

They could be just like me

In the most intricate ways

In the little things

In the horrible little things that have always separated me then

Separate me still

But they do not push

Nor do they pull at me

They carry this sweetness that I want

Have been wanting

Have always wanted

Ever since The Breeze danced away

This is different

This is scary

This is horrifying

They could be just like me

But they’re not

And yet they are

I want their eyes

And the lines in their hands

I want their blood

I want

I want what I cannot have

I want what I can never touch

I want what I know will tear me apart again

But they’re not like the Blue-Eyed Man

They are of fair skin

A litter of scars

Fire in a bottle

They are the finest of fair woods

Greens and browns

Pink lips

Bloody knees

Comfort in the tips of their fingers

They could be just like me

I know those eyes

That honeyed halo

Those slender hands

I know your faded loveliness

I know you

I know you

I know