I guess I'll bring this in on Friday. Blah. It's the only way I can express what happened. My way. I doubt I'll read it to him. Probably just hand it to him and let him read it while I look for places to hide.
Between the internal and external
there is you, tucking a plush toy
into my arms and pulling the Indian
cover so that I will never be a meteor
again, and you will make sure of that
because you sit across the room in a
canvas chair that was never there before
tonight, reading quietly to yourself as I
sleep, hours after I asked if you thought
I was sick and disgusting for choosing
to examine my insides, and you told me
that while you wished I wouldn’t do it,
it’s acceptable for now because for some
odd reason you understand why it works,
but that was yesterday, and today my
satisfaction is a ten-dollar Buddha head
and the boxes that I open so carefully,
inspecting every inch as though they were
real and as though I appear from a different
country along with each insignificant lid
contained by limits of green and gold.
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