I wonder what it would be like
To be loved by a poet
To fill books with words about each other
Like Lang Leav and Michael Faudet
To exchange letters in passing
To wake up to poetry on my nightstand
To give my writing to someone
Who understands how profound the gesture
And what it truly means
To be able to read the transcript of my heartbeat

Poets are addicts
Haikus are our gateway drugs
Words are our vices

Without them, we shake
Writer's block, our withdrawal
Our pens— the needle

reading my poetry
is reading the story
of my life
in each chapter you see
the love; the loss
the growth; the change
and one day
when I am gone
my poetry will
become me

I fear I've taken him for granted
Assuming I'd always have him there
Because never in my wildest dreams
Did I ever imagine someday I wouldn't

I miss him
when he isn't gone
it makes me feel
as if my heart
is making peace
with losing him

How can I
convince him to stay
when I write
like he is already
gone?

Ghosts like to come to me in dreams
When my great grandmother passed
She shared her memories; her youth
When my great aunt passed
She came to say goodbye; bid farewell
I'm afraid of dreaming now

I fear seeing you as a shade
When you have always
Been my light

I used to think that love
would always be
enough

But my love
however endless
can not save you

Because I've loved you more
than you love yourself
and my heart that beat
for you
could not beat
for yours