There is a surrealism to balance.
What is it like to breathe
And not gasp?
And not sprint?
Aliens are in emotion.
How does one cry without crumbling?
Or stand their ground with defiance
Without bubbling over with a poison rage
Like acid from a cauldron?
A burning, corrosive witches brew.
To see someone cheerful,
Instead of ecstatic is confusing.
I can tell you I have seen UFOs.
In the people I love,
In bus drivers and friends,
They are alien to me,
Because they are so human
Without complete excess.
I wish I could have just loved you
Instead of being alive
only because of you.
Aliens, teach me your ways.
Breakdown the surrealism.
Let me be a human.