my mind
is like a small sailor
sickened
by the calm sea.
i stand here with the openness of
vast,
blue water spraying
across my chest, upon
my face;
my toes curl by the edge of it
and i am sickened
by a vapor of
nothing.
no movement.
no tumultuous rocking of
sand
shells
and sea, together.
nothing.
no chaos
or calm to disturb me.
mere air and the poison
of my own
mind
waltzing
disturbingly
through it.
if i must see another
man and woman
kissing
i will throw myself
overboard, and with it
my desire
to be in love
and feel that very same kissing
sensation.
and i will go
over and over
and over again until
it is gone.
i am alone.
my lips
have never once
tasted a kiss
and i feel very sorry for myself,
but not nearly
as sorry as the ocean does.
with what right do i have to burden it?
what what misconstrued privilege do i
elect those i deem
worthy
to throw my body in its body
to make myself
whole?
i may be sad, but i am not cruel.
i am not cruel.
i might be broken
but the music still plays even if
it is not
my own for a while.
who are you
to rob me of the only thing i have ever, ever
wanted?
who are you
to walk on this calm water and make me feel a storm?
who am i
to let you?
yours,
k.p.
