It started with him,
Not so long ago
A moment in the past where
My feelings were confusing.

It started with him,
I wanted to read him over again
And analyze him,
And take notes
Figure out each phrase
And memorize themes
About him
I wanted to learn about
Every aspect
And inspect every former draft of him
And figure out why there were
Modifications and changes of him

I wanted to write him down,
Soak pen ink in his name
So I wrote poetry.

I fell in love with him
I fell in love with destructive poetry.

And then I realized one day
My metaphors were getting more passionate
But he was not,
I spent more time on line spacing
Than planning my space around him
I became wittier with words
While his jokes were getting old
He became ideas
That were better expressed by me

So I continued to write
Better poetry
And it’s not ending with him
But now with
Lovelier things,
About lovelier people

Like me-
Who I have learned about
Who I have seen more of
Who I am not afraid to change
And correct
Because of mistakes and errors
Who I have written of
Who I have written.

Singed ink in my name.

Because poetry started with him,
But it’s ending with me.