to buy whitening strips and wedding rings

because where I come from

beauty is in the eye of anyone who sees

what’s missing but can’t stop pointing

to what’s still there.

If there’s no definition for love yet—

I think that’s a good one.

I’m writing you, Friend, on a day

you did me wrong. I’m only half

a second outside the furnace of my rage,

and I’m trying to focus

my attention on all the teeth

you still have, the teeth

I know you’d happily knock out

yourself if it would keep you

from biting anyone again.

That’s how mistakes work

if you’re loving the right kind of people.

And you’re the right kind of people.

You’ve walked on water

so many times you know grace

is super, super slippery.

There’s literally nothing

anyone is more likely

to fall from.

Some sound advice I give myself,

like, twice an hour: Wear knee pads

on the way to your ego, Andrea.

Being right is boring.

It comforts only the tiniest

parts of us, and when it comes to hearts,

I want to always be a size queen

’cause that’s how I found you—

lifting the spirits of everyone around

like a hot air balloon

just from the way you burned

to be a better person today

than you were the day before.

Burning to be better is my favorite

quality on anyone, and you are on fire

like a gay men’s choir

rocking the halftime show

of a football game.

I’ve been dancing in the end zone

since you taught me to start breaking

every promise I have made

to my pain, taught me my wounds

will never be bigger than I am.

Thank goodness for you,

champion of the unkillable YES,

dandelion refusing to be cut

for the bouquet.

Five minutes into our first conversation

you knew I could take a punch

better than I could take a compliment

and you talked to me about it only once

and BAM! I was angel gossip.

There were god-rumors spreading

in my suddenly un-heavied head.

I love you because you’ve never had a mirror

face. Because the truth is the last thing

you would ever try to fake.

So sometimes you look like a human

scribble, like a two-year-old

has colored you in,

like you have too many feelings

to stay inside the lines

of your own skin. But that, my friend,

is the masterpiece. I love you

because we have both showed up

to kindness tryouts

with notes from the school nurse

that said we were too hurt to participate.

But we learned how wrong we were,

and weren’t those the best days?

The days we learned how wrong we were

and so got to grow

into our goodness, throwing

the peach pits of our old selves

into the garden to grow sweetness.

Sugar, I pick you to be the captain

of my chosen family tree.

I pick you to throw the party

when I leave this world

knowing I’m gonna run death