you are not empty
but you are not full of the self i poured in.
i cannot create you.
funny – a womb and a woman –
if i were one like they wanted
you could make me eat twice as much
just to take it all away.
oh! a familiar thought!
this body the host of a parasitic love.
but it’s too late, i was never her
and you are not the person
she could have birthed.
if i let my eyelids flutter
and blur what i see
then maybe you could be
a boy who loves a boy – me –
but if eyes are the windows to the soul
and mine are always half closed
i’m not sure you’ll ever really understand me.
so let me look –
you are taller than i am
(this is usually the case)
and you come off as braver, more sure;
you smile easily but only if they’re looking
(luckily i see this, when my eyes are open –
i’m not one of them so i see your face fall).
i was wrong
you are whole
but i was right
you are not built by me.
and it’s for the better –
my creations tend to never quite