You’re an ocean, unlike any I dipped
my feet in before. Pity I never learned
to swim. The leaky, creaky boat of my affection
is making me nauseous. If the motion gets rockier,
I might drown or vomit. Not sure which is worse.
I can’t claim you in my usual way because waves
wash lipstick away, but I’m hoping you’ll do something
so I’ll stay. Make me less seasick.
You’re a doctor, more into diagnosis than dialogue.
Tell me, what’s wrong with me? I’m dis-eased, not comfortable with how things have been.
My feelings are brand new but true.
Around you, my heartbeat is irregular,the space between my ears seems like a waste,
my mouth can’t wrap around the words I want to say.
I don’t have currency with which to pay,
but I’m hoping you’ll help me be okay.
Make me less lovesick.
Manuela Velasco is a bisexual writer with a Bachelor of Arts in Sustainability and the Environment along with a minor in English from Florida International University, where she was Vice President and Editor of the Honors College literary magazine, Palate. She was born in Brazil and lives in Miami, Florida. Her multi-genre writing includes poetry, fiction, and nonfiction, typically concerning matters of identity. Recently, she has been published in So to Speak.