She lives to love a man who once could sing
his way into the hearts of many crowds;
once strong enough to pick up anything
with either back or mind.  Her man had wowed
the critics with his skill with a guitar,
with songs that brought salt water to the eyes
and lyric laughter.  Could have been a star,
connections came and left, not realized.
The cracking voice now breaking hearts instead,
the left hand hanging, useless, by his side.
His back is bent, his heart is weak, his head
is filled with possibilities untried.
What's left of him can barely take her hand...
and yet...
                 and yet, she lives to love her man.

I don't think I'll write about how your hair flows in the wind
And how I worship it like the flag of my country

I'm not going to write about how your dark eyes fill me with vigor
And how they turn my dark soul white

I'm not authoring a poem about your voice
Filling the air with the sweet notes from Apollo's lyre

I'm not going to pen down anything about your sweet smile
The smile that can end wars and famine

I won't write you for Valentine's
I might reconsider it though

We could be history
panting stories with our lips
your the paper and I'm the words
~Myriah young~

How did we get here
where vitamin water turned into ***** and the power of innocence changed to the courage of
alcohol. The boys no longer opening car doors and the girls trading in t-shirts for crop tops that show off
what they were or weren’t wearing.
Where sneaking a soda after dinner turned into hiding a flask at the family party where we used to play games
like hip-scotch and dodge ball instead of drinking hard whisky and Jack.
The promises made in the D.A.R.E. program about not doing drugs or drinking
were traded in for drunk driving and “just one hit.”
How did we get here
where grape juice turned into white wine and a nervous kiss under the bleachers
at the Friday football game moved to steaming up the windows in the back seat of that car
at the party on Saturday night.
The knocking on your neighbor’s door for them to come out and play moved to texting
in the driveway and hanging out means sitting on your phone
while sitting on the couch next to someone else.
How did we get here,
where root beer turned to Busch lite and being home before dark
switched to struggling to be home before the sun came up.
The parents not knowing their innocent children are making children and kids being too drunk to remember
they promised to go to Church on Sunday morning.
Where asking for forgiveness overpowered asking for permission and sorrys turned into whiskey shots
and make up ***.
How did we get here
with a drink in one hand and the other around my waist while you lean into me too drunk
to stand on your own.
This is the first time we’ve spoken since that day last June and I can’t help but notice why.
How did we get here
where the power of innocence changed to the courage from alcohol?

Chocolate or vanilla?
It depends on if I’m drinking milk or if I’m eating
one of your mom’s double chocolate brownies fresh out of that oven where the paint
is starting to chip off the sides where the door hits the countertop where we eat dinner with your parents
every Saturday night.
Summer or winter?
It depends on if you called me beautiful in the past few days and if had a good workout that day so I actually believed you
or if I’m in the mood to be lazy and lay on your bed
and watch movies all day as we cuddled up with that fleece blanket
eating popcorn and mac & cheese until we were stuffed past our limit.
Dogs or cats?
It depends on if I feel like being jumped on by the dog that looks like the one you lost
but could never fill the emptiness that took over you that night or if I was feeling okay with
occasionally being scratched when the cat who’s as old as you saw a shadow and jumped off my lap.
Early or late?
It depends on if the clouds are low in the sky and covering that spot where we liked to go and say nothing at all
or if the stars are out and we can lay under them talking about the universe and how small
everything around us actually is.
Dark or light?
It depends on if you fell asleep holding me and I woke up the same way or if you went out
and came crawling into bed the next morning smelling like cigarettes and her cheap perfume you tried to mask
by spraying yourself down with the cologne I got you last month.
Past or future?
It depends on if we’re talking about the times we laid together and talked about that little house in the woods
we were going to have or the countless times I was left sitting by that pond trying to decide what I did
to make you change your mind this time.
Do I miss you?
It depends on if we’re talking about the you that moved your schedule around to come watch me dance
up on that stage for the last time
or the you that sent that text and left town too afraid you wouldn't end it in person if you saw the look in my eyes.
Have I moved on?
It depends on if you mean whether or not I stopped thinking about how you signed that birthday card
from the both of us or if I learned how to love myself again.
Will I ever just give you a straight answer?
It depends.

I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I climbed off the back of that quad covered in mud and took my helmet off
to reveal matted hair sticking to random places
on my head. When I woke up next to you
and had those crusty things in the corners of my eyes that partnered with
the gross smell of morning breath that you still kissed me when I had.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
when I walked down the stairs into the living room and you saw me in that dress
you said you’d been imagining me in since you asked me to prom
more than a month ago. When I started to ramble on and on
about something I read or saw online that was completely irrelevant to anything that was said
all day.
I’ll never forget how you called me beautiful
like it was my name
every morning when you kissed me goodbye before leaving for work, every night when we were arguing
over what movie to watch and how many bags of popcorn to make, at random times
like during dinner at that little diner when I had just taken a big bite of pasta or when you surprised me at work
with my hair up and covered in three different kinds of fudge.
You called me beautiful every day until one day it turned into
darling, you’re beautiful, but…