Dented Angel

Originally posted 4/13/2013.

I grew up knowing I had a place
in the universe, my place secure
at all levels from atomic to galactic.

I wanted so much less.
Wanted acceptance
by someone

more particular
about who they find worthy
than the universe ever could be;

someone pickier,
someone less tolerant
of quirks and foibles.  

I wanted to be loved
by a person far less interested
in loving another.

I wanted to be held and cherished
on a more intimate scale,
but I wanted that Lover

to be a dented angel
who found a simulacrum
of heaven in me

despite their initial skepticism
at how unlike heaven
I was on the surface.  

What I wanted was to be desired
by someone the way Emerson
and his gang desired transcendence,

except I wanted them to find it hard,
almost not worth struggling for;
it wasn’t going to come easily.

Instead, I got you.  I got you
who loves me daily, as matter-of-factly
as dark matter sweeping through me —

unseen but present in every fiber.
I got you, who makes me
want to be good in the kitchen, in bed,

and the Milky Way.
Whatever sun storm I rouse
around me,

you make me lie down
and sleep it off, and
by the next day it’s forgotten.  

I craved turbulence
and you’re having none of that.
It is a little hard to believe

which is why I guess
I sometimes act the part
of the dented angel,

though I can’t fake it for long:
it’s hard to keep up the pretense
that heaven is hard to find.