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The moon is always jealous of
the glowing translucency of day
just as the sun always longs for
something dark and deep.
The earth is constantly wishing
it were fluid and
of a calmer hue, say, blue
the same way the ocean
constantly misses being solid
enough to be walked on,
to have a man’s footsteps
on its glassy surface again.
The universe is in a constant
state of dissatisfaction,
harboring an alter ego
who always wants to be
something other than itself,
but it always finds a way
to remain itself.
On its toes,
trying to see past the
tops of the fence,
the volatile truth is in
a better shape to discern
the grass is green enough
on this side.

Sure, I’ve wondered
about that life.
I’ve had waking dreams
of the spotlight
and walking the red carpet
with my fingertips perched
on the crook of an
Armani-clad man’s arm.
In some parallel universe I have
cracked the Riemann Hypothesis
and singlehandedly made
PhD in Math sexy.
In some past life
my pictures in glamour magazines
were larger than life
and my name had
household-word recall.
In some prime-time airing
of the replay of
today’s ball game,
I had court side tickets
to greatness.
Something inside me screams
I am not ordinary

but at the end of the day
I find beauty in pedestrian
Walk / Don’t Walk signs and
bargain basement books
and learning to save up
for rainy days
and learning to pamper myself
from time to time
and let the heart-racing guilt
render it all the sweeter
and I’ve never
wanted what they had
more than what I had

until now,
just because I want
you to notice me.