Pledge Allegiance to My Chaos

Hug me when I cry — which is often.
Overwhelmed? Yes.
Underwhelmed? Also yes.
Parallel parking? Call 911.
Do not judge.

Know how I like my tea.
The exact shade.
It is a hue between beige and hope.
But if you mess it up, I’ll still drink it, and still love you for trying.

I will write poems about salt shakers and burnt toast and that one crow who looked like he knew something about us.
Clap anyway.
Say “tell me more.”
Mean it.
Please.

Don’t be a picky eater.
I cannot do a lifetime of cheese pizza and chicken tenders.
I want dim sum and laksa and that thing we can’t pronounce but we still try.

I never have anything to wear but own 500 shirts.
I will fuss about it and then leave in something dramatic.
It will probably be covered in dog hair unless you accost me with a lint roller on the way out the door.

Speaking of — My dog wants the tennis ball.
Right now.
Again.
Forever.
That’s how she shows love.
I’m the same with soup.
(Feed me)

In the morning, I am miserable.
This is not your fault.
Even if you’re perfect.
Just… wait for it to pass.

Let me buy ugly shoes.
Like offensively flamboyant ones.
Let me have one hideous chair.
Maybe two.

Corral me in Barnes & Noble when I start hoarding books like a raccoon with a tote bag.
Sometimes remind me that we are grown and beige furniture exists.
But let me keep the lava lamp.
It helps me feel cosmic.

Learn the quiet sigh I make when I’m done being in public.
Learn when to offer your hand and when to let me rest mine in yours like a bridge.
Like a promise.
Know that I will never ask you to wash my hair but want you to so badly it hurts in my throat.

Spooning is welcome.
Let me be the big spoon sometimes.

Let me root for you.
Let me build with you.

Let me be too much and chosen anyway.
Over and over again.

When I say “let’s go away,” say yes.
The answer is always yes.
I am running toward wonder, not away from us.

I will fall asleep during every movie.
But I will remember everything about you.
Your laugh will be home.
Your quirks will be cataloged in poems I write on receipts and gas station napkins and the back of your hand when I’ve lost my notebook.

Forgive the candles I leave burning.
Forgive the wet towel walk when I’m dripping wet from the shower.
Forgive the ramen timer — 1 minute and 40 seconds exactly. This is a science.
Forgive the fact that I cover everything with stickers.

I watch Full House when I’m sad.
I need more bookshelves.
I leave things half-open and fully loved.

If you love me, really love me — don’t play small.
Challenge my mind.

Let’s outgrow the world together.
Let’s name stars after our inside jokes.
Let’s name every storm after our stubbornness.
Let’s build a home where our idiosyncrasies are the architecture.
Let’s grow old and feral, matching prescription sunglasses and all.
Let’s figure life out together, even when we are both hangry.
Let’s love each other so weirdly that even the algorithm gets confused.
Let’s promise to be each other’s soft place to land, even when the world is loud and fluorescent.
Let me be the reason your worst days still end in laughter.
Let me love you like a habit I never want to break.