of boys I have loathed and loved, oft in equal measure

Around the misted isle of my desire,

Whose vast interior remains unknown,

I navigate along the outer shore

And find myself dashed hard against the rocks.

How I have wished to be that precious prince,

As radiant as figures of Apollo,

And, bearing all the grace of that Olympian,

Be blessed with life devoid of consequence.

He moves encased within a golden sphere

Where power insulates the skin from harm;

The very brambles bow to let him pass,

Like servants stepping back to clear the way.

Yet this defense corrupts his outward gaze,

And smooths the jagged edges of the world;

He smiles upon the weeping on the shore,

And, blinded by his own benevolent heart,

Believes us all as fortunate as he.

But I refuse to shed my human skin,

Or trade the stinging salt for empty calm.

I drift content along the restless shore,

Where, buoyed by love, I float above the stone,

Alive within the chaos of the tide.