by: Yin Fei

u could tell from first glance 
i was concave.
u were convex, 
clearly 
u took up so much air, sucked it 
from regions so i couldn’t
breathe so thin
that fine line
between drinking and 
drowning
i could tell
i bit down
even
harder—
but next time we met 
i wondered how much 
more water a river could hold
if the mouth was a stream,
i couldn’t exactly scream 
around u 
yet i couldn’t not 
unclench my jaw to sip
with u faster slowly
stop myself from saying
much,
i bit softer,
softly cause
u always told me to not
to bear my teeth
more or less
though u claimed
u were bigger
than the bite
anyways.
and strawmen, 
u taught me that i scare 
visitors,
to be scared of 
me, myself 
i had small lungs,
and it was the first time
i realized there just wasn’t 
enough room,
enough space
we could never build 
a sturdy home
together
u and i 
i said.

but u said we could
if i kept 
my gaps u filled.    u said.     we say.