I have written so much about you.
So many things I wanted to want to say to you.
Things like I hate you
Or I love you
Or I’m over you.
But whenever I wrote them down
You never read them in your reflection.
Always just mediocre poems about a nameless man.
But I realize now what I want to say to you.
I want to say I’m here.
In two senses.
I am here
I am both solid and of mass.
I cannot be unseen or transmuted.
I am existing.
And also if you ever truly understand the first half
I’ll always hold your hand.
There will always be a place for you.
There will always be one word in each poem
Just for you.