I was born
without a social bone in my body.
The anatomy of my conversations
have always been incomplete
lost between too little and too much
not knowing when to pull away or push back.
Doctors wonder
how I ever managed to make it this far.

It is so hard to talk to you.
I rephrase and re-punctuate each thought
only so that you can misunderstand it again.
At the end of the night
our words are but a sloppy exchange
angst and secrets
too incomplete to ever become meaningful
And I know they were born that way.
But you
you are the thing I have wanted
for as long as I have been broken.
The donor I grew up knowing I would need
but I was too far down the list.

Advice says to stop searching for what you want
and you will get it
but in my entire life
I have never once stopped searching.
Yet here you are.
My own
medical miracle.

Reason says
to stop waiting for my test results.
But I have to know if one day I will be fixed.
That after all these words
you will finally know what I have been saying
‘cause you’ve tried.
I know.

After every fight
I feel your sighs shuddering through my ribcage.
Your breath
searching anxiously
through every crack in my skeleton
every fiber in my muscle
desperate for something
studies show
isn’t there.