I Said to Myself, "Self,

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We are hurt in ways we cannot explain

By people who love us & people who don’t

See what we care about or need until

It’s too late & the termites have already

Infiltrated our sensitive architecture

 

After the fourth & fifth prickly nips

Of d’Anjou pear liqueur settle it gets easier

To think we have found something out

About freedom or love or wanting

An escape route only one person knows

 

Enough about us to be really scared by

But it’s warm on this side of the terrarium

Fear grows healthily in it & so does

Separation there’s tons of room to breathe

& plenty of that good nitrogen-rich air

 

Full of crucial gas in a form we cannot use