the box it was brought in

it's not a disorder
there's nothing disorderly about my hypersensitivity
as I observe and absorb the body language of the bees bumbling in the roses
or feel the vibrations of the trees as much as the rhythm of the rave I've left behind
it's not a disease or defect or dysfunction that I can pick up on your emotions from across a room or communicate with dogs, crows and cats like a witch plucked out of your favorite fairy tale

it's most certainly not a deficit

it's a gift
one that never fit in the box it was brought in

for no box
could ever
encompass it all

^{* "we" refers to me and Pilot, my dog, not "we" as in me and the incessant voices in my head turning every experience into poetry without any regard for my desire for silence and to be in the god damn moment once in a while}

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