I hate the way you fill my soul

just like invasive beetles fill woodland trees

just like honking horns and city sounds fill the ears of pedestrians

fill and fill until everything overflows.

The smile on your face may be a facade,

but it aligns so well with mine

you’d almost believe it was real.

Have you ever seen one of those paintings

where at first you think it’s a photograph

because all the details are perfect

but you stare at it for a little longer,

you realize that it’s not a carbon copy of a human

it’s embellished, by the artist’s touch?

That’s exactly how my consciousness beholds you

non-human, no flaws, only beauty and fresh silk and springtime smiles

slender grace and charm.

I can’t comprehend the inferior part of you that sobs every evening

goes home and stays up late feeling everything and nothing,

all of the glow lost

brown eyes rimmed red,

mind full of gray slush.

Even though you’ve told me, in detail, several times,

I can’t picture you as anything less than impeccable.

So I’ll sit, with you, admiring your perfection

let you talk for as long as you need

idolize you in my mind

all graceful fingertips and slender ankles and fluttery eyelashes

I’ll stare at your goddamn superiority until my mind shuts down and my eyes stop working

until I can’t praise you any longer.