Why am I only offered shelter at the sight of a burning house?
What is it about all the blinding white flags I see before me that you believe should make me stay?
What if I told you that I already know what a home on fire looks like?
* * *
With tyrants knocking over any sign of life in reach, I could swear I knew cold feet the moment I’d lay with opinions from the outside.
Imposters let in by the very shelter who swore to keep them at bay
No crying over spilt milk, my feet stay damp.
With whatever coolness I could bring home being bulldozed,
My fears seem more muffled,
And because I’m conditioned to be cool when on fire,
His passion seems to grow alongside a deeper panic,
While my joys are magnified
The man still cries,
for the joys that we happily stumble upon together aren’t of his own making
Unintentional joy, anything unplanned for,
he cannot stomach, even a pleasant surprise.
How dare she make me fall?
How dare she make me need her more?
This is my job alone,
Says the man who calls himself Master,
As he serves another insurmountable one – Fear
How dare she seem so flawless?
Yet my love for her feels so flawed?
Not sure which I like better – her or my limping butterfly.
If she knows the strength of her reach, another devil may snatch her away.
Better she survives this day,
Understanding that Better the devil she knows
The one who dares to undress his wounds only before her,
Giving her the honour to lick my wounds whole only because I let her
Usually I tend to be so closed off, but I let you see the real me, Love
And all the while, the monster will only show his face to you and call you home
While his mouth defecates on the same place he calls his refuge, repeatedly
He will bring you flowers,
Yet won’t help but get offended at your insistence to tend to your own garden all the same
Why does it look like you have one foot out the door, Love?
Perceiving life through humour and introspection remains one of life’s truest forms of compensation.