J doesn’t suffer all the comments laid down like bear traps to drag him down to their level.

J knows he is no Michael Jackson but enjoys the sound of his voice and the attention, even if it is in the form of ‘fag’ and ‘retard’ and ‘8====D~~~’.

J has learned to live with such people.

J refreshes the page frantically to see how many views his video gets.

J enjoys each jolt.

J brandishes a samurai sword he bought online with a lot of other ninja equipment, along with his collection of crystals and skeleton keys and antique umbrellas.

J affixes spikes to the bottom of his flip flops, uncoils a grappling hook whirling it three times fast in front of the mirror before carefully coiling it back.

J takes a break to make himself dinner: Banquet turkey and dressing with a gourmet brownie.

J prefers to eat on a TV tray in front of the television.

J doesn’t suffer the peas in his beard.

J utilizes a pair of chopsticks because he doesn’t believe in silverware, nor does he own any.

J watches American Idol because it is his very favorite show.

J dreams of auditioning, if only they would give him his driver’s license back to make his way downtown.

J feels for those who have their hearts ripped out by the judges.

J knows what it’s like to try and fail.

J takes the time to vote for each contestant during the finals.

J imagines a world where everyone wins.

J won’t let the cynics get the best of him.

Ever.

J does three and a half pushups.

J walks down to the apartment vending machines, arriving out of breath.

J leaves with a Dr. Pepper and Funyuns.

J sits on the edge of the pool swinging his legs in the shallow end.

J ignores giggling behind his back.

J counts the stars and whips a ninja star at Cassiopeia, wondering what the future will bring.

J eyes the drain and imagines getting his junk snagged in it again.

J feels his nipples twitch and knows somebody near is in danger.

J scoops up a broken bird in the courtyard.

J wraps the wing carefully in gauze in his bathroom sink, regurgitating a bite of Funyun into its beak.

J sings Ke$ha to the bird like a secret lullaby and fills his heart overflowing with birdseed.

J watches the tiny throat suck air for the last time.

J feels the weight of all things great and small―the earth rising to meet his feet, an anarchy of clouds crashing down upon him.

J sprouts wings and, with a terrible and awesome man-caw, rises from the balcony to swim through the sun, becoming what he was always meant to be.

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Matthew Burnside enjoys windmills, fans, and other things that make circles. His favorite type of water is rain. He invented the word moist.