Every time I’d reach the stairs of our home
you’d tell me, “Hey klutz, watch your step,”
always knowing I have a tendency to trip
when I’m not watching my tracks.
At times, I’m not careful with my feet,
or my hands or my words.
So you learned to shut out the meaning in my words,
and when to back away when I would fall.
You thought I was my own punching bag.

There were so many times
you’d look at me with terror,
like I was a wrecking ball about to crumble down your doors.
You’d hold me at a distance,
hoping we could still touch our palms
without me getting too close to your heart.
Because even though you knew that we could make honey,
you were too afraid of my sting.

I was your catastrophe.
Like a volcano you didn’t expect to explode,
like a tornado in the Sahara,
I blew you away
with my funny alibis and my iron-y corsets.
And you’d be amazed at the calm of my after-math.

Some days, you’d ask yourself,
“Where did he go?”
And it’s funny
because sometimes I ask myself that too.

About Ry

It's so magical, it's gay.
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