while I refuse to reduce my life
to comic book cliches, I remember that
the last time I let lovers so close,
I wound up with adamantium fused
to my skeleton like a defense system
so I will wake up tomorrow
with forced optimism tattooed on my soul
knowing it's easier to get through the day
not needing a kryptonian savior
who is so busy saving the world
he forgot about Lois Lane
because I have learned my lesson;
let the blues shake my body like sobs
so that my callused fingers can wail better
on strings rusted over with Texas floods
but I can only wish
that I could give myself that much credit,
because I have forgotten how it feels
to be close to fretboard necks
in the same way that I have become leery
of my susceptibility to attachment
thanks to being taught yet again
that sometimes, even heroes fall short
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