How do you have so many emotions?

He asked.

Well, let me tell you.

That my body is about to tip

Like a glass too full onto the floor

And if you mopped up the excess and squeezed it into a bucket

It would be a melting mixture of joy and stress and disappointment and lust and affection

And my blood organ moves not only red and white cells through its veins and arteries

but also pity and adoration

My skin is made up of tiny cages filled with organelles like Love, the power house, and determination, the transporter

How do I have so many emotions?

Because my hair is coated in curiosity

and my teeth shine with years of happiness

My lungs fill with exasperation and exhale desire

I digest distress and convert it to hope

My eye jelly is semi-solid jealousy, and my tongue tastes with microscopic rows of appreciation

My tissues are meshed with fibers of fear, but my fluids intermingle with liquid courage

My kidney’s filter anger, so my body does not poison itself, but occasionally they fail…

How do I have so many emotions?

They’re in my pores. My ears. My toes.

I feel them in the marrow of my bones

And if I were to be drained of them

I would then simply pump blood, and breathe air, and smile using muscles

And I would be as empty as that tipped glass, lying in its own puddle, on the floor.