she says
for once
‘I don’t want to be the poet
but the poem’
and I felt that

You bought me a book
for my birthday
I opened it up today
The book told me
I am a queen
I am enough love for myself
That the princess will save herself
I go back to the irony
this was your gift to me
without even knowing
You taught me to love myself
because you couldn’t love me
in the way I needed you to
because you didn’t appreciate me
in the way I wanted you to
Now your actions and gift
have given me an invaluable lesson
of the gifts I owe myself

I want to marry a poet
for the way they see things
the way they crave things
I wouldn’t have to wonder
if they meant their words
because their words are art

I want to marry a poet
for the way they admire
& notice every detail
because they feel every emotion
& to them I’d never be
‘too much’

It’s been too long
since I wrote
& by writing I mean for me
not so another human can fawn
over my words
but so that I can feel
each emotion being poured
into a hand crafted image

It’s been too long
since I stopped
to really think
& be present
in my skin
& my heart
I forgot what I was like
when I stripped all else
away

I methodically contemplate
time and time again
with different questions
but all from the same basis:
what is my truth?
the scariest answer I’ve found
is what I’ve deemed the truest:
truth is perceptive
and we convince ourselves
what we believe in
therefore each truth is different
and whether or not we’re right
is never entirely cle

I’d almost say unrequited love
although that’s slightly dramatic
see,
I won’t deny myself the simplest
of life’s pleasures
such as falling for another
yet he will
because
he fools himself into thinking
that we get to choose love in this life
that we get to decide the moment
we ridiculously fall
but
if we chose it wouldn’t be real
it’s illogical and daunting
but we can only take
what life gives