i loved a
girl who thought
that womanhood
was to be missed by the moon
that all the waxing and waning
and tidal shifts
and monthly nausea
was a love letter,
moon to me
moon to earth
moon to the space between
my stomach and my hips
moon to the hurt i carry in my ribs
moon to the anger that sits in my tailbone.
i loved a girl who
didn’t understand love,
begged and pleaded alone,
why can’t i admit how i love?
desperate to admit
crumbling under the weight -
god my poems
aren’t what they were once,
i’ve been-
i’m not what i’ve been once
i were am being.
sometimes
these things court you in
the night
and let you knock your head
on their collarbone,
until you fade out of anyone
else’s memory. is it wrong?
if it was good it would have stayed.
you haven’t always a right
to your grief,
lock your bedroom door before you sleep
let your hair dry naturally.
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