It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl who
Rumi writes about.

So unknowingly
this bright muse interpreted
to touch and inspire.

But me? Never meant
to be the subject of art—
an object of thirst.

See, I’m the poet,
existing somewhere alone—
a penchant for soul.

Watercolor thoughts,
manipulating the lines
between joy and pain.

It’s not a bad goal
to be the kind of girl
who becomes Rumi

either.