I don’t believe that there are aliens. I believe there are really different people. – Orson Scott Card 

Each time I kiss her,

I want to tell her everything…

about the aliens who tried to

abduct me, the secret door in

the attic which imprisons them —

little behemoths with orange skin,

glowing yellow eyes and myriad horns,

which send waves of disturbing

thoughts into our minds, until they

carry us with them to their realm,

in spirit and flesh, or spirit alone,

I don’t know. I know she’ll

have one of two reactions

to my confession —

she’ll either want nothing to do

with me, which will destroy my

equanimity and toss me in

whirlwinds of pandemonium,

releasing those monsters

and giving them victory,

or she’ll become as obsessed as I

was with them,

spending nights tossing and

turning, wanting to know more,

flitting between the rapture of esoteric

knowledge and the despondency of learning

too much, until she’ll open the door,

unleash what’s in the pandora’s box

and destroy us all.

I don’t mean to gasconade,

but I’ve considered all the possibilities

like a scrupulous, superstitious priest

going about his ecclesiastical duty,

and I often wish I could carve

the abominations with a chainsaw,

or fatality them by ripping off their

eyes and horns,

or drop them in a pool of acid,

or place them in a brazen bull until

they roast to death, and relish their screams.

I could tell her that aliens don’t fall

from the sky like little grey blobs,

but are with us and within us,

unveiling unthinkable horrors outside

perception, and perhaps she’ll agree,

but I depend on her not changing,

I need status quo, and though I might be

hollow because I refuse to tackle

what needs warring with,

I’d rather she hold the key to

the secret door without knowing it,

keeping the aliens at bay,

engendering a simulacrum of peace,

or a semblance of blue,

or a gaudy facade of togetherness,

rather than violently altering make-believe

with shades of crimson and drops of blood.

Photo by Daniel Olah on Unsplash

3 responses to “Aliens”

  1. “She” holds a lot of power 😊.


    1. She does hold a lot of power over the narrator! 😅 You know, you gave me different ways of looking at the poem with your comment. I had initially written it from the point of view of a somewhat selfish, tortured guy who wants stability and will not confront his demons or share his woes with his partner, but you’ve shown me another side. Thank you for commenting Janice.


      1. Glad I could help you to see the other side 🙂.


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About Me

Ordinary Person is a guy who likes to write. He writes fiction, essays, poems and other stuff.


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