When I read
poems from the past,
I barely understand them.

I try, yes—
but they are minds
from another time.

It takes time
to connect with them.

Then I imagine myself:
will they, in the future,
read the poems I write to you
and understand
anything at all?

I will take all this pain
anxiety
nervousness
and turn it into poetry
Sometimes it will come out beautiful
Sometimes it will come out raw
Both
are deeply spiritual

When I was little
I wanted to write romance novels
It was all I read
But my heart won’t let me
No matter how many love stories I start
My soulmate is poetry

You found this book on the last shelf
of an old, dusty bookstore
Yes
I didn’t write this to be a success
Only those who truly want to be healed
will find me

I want to do other things
the chores call me
but each time it’s harder
poetry has tangled me in such a way that
ah…
I just want to keep drinking from it
forever