The Average Person Thinks You Are The Average Person

no smile like summer                        

no belly peach fuzz

                        not even an arm longer than another

they think oh

            this dude is just fine

                        and they are not wrong.

you are fine. teeth-licking

laugh so moist the room is humid

                        after a good joke. 

eyelashes so curled

             they could hold a pencil.

                        and take notes.

like if you were a storm

             and I were a bucket, you’d fill me

                        all the way up with Sunday afternoon

leave me out in the sun-

set to dry. I mean, you are

worthy of the whole damn sky.

lips like a sip of red wine

before dinner, head

cocked like the moon, unsure.

you are galaxies above average,

kin to the erupting stars,

a light in the extraordinary dark.

Micaela Walley is a poet and essayist living in Baltimore, Maryland. She is currently pursuing her MFA at the University of Baltimore. Her work can be found in Huffington Post, ENTROPY, Hobart, Longleaf Review, and elsewhere. You can follow her on Instagram & Twitter @micaela_poetry.