Not The One

I am not the one you are looking for.

There are thunderstorms in my heart

and your skin is resistant to showers that fall upon it, 

or so it seems. 

Slicking off and collecting in iridescent puddles at your feet. 

Your hands are not cupped to catch feelings that pour out of me in sheet music, 

ruptured melodies, a tambourine shiver of words your ears aren’t ready to hear anyway.

Too many praises, not enough apologies.

Too many lighting strikes reminding you that you are fragile and fallible, 

that you still have so much work to do (as do I).

And my origami wings were not designed to unfold in the roughness of your hands.

And find more happiness in a simple sea breeze than any amount of money, 

more inspiration in a small act of kindness than all the Seven Wonders of the World.

When I close my eyes at night I contemplate the criticality of staling murmurations, 

over-analyze subtle key changes, and add new legends to my soul map.

All before tucking myself into the black hole of my bed 

and collapsing into a love language you will never even attempt to understand.