Muse?

Even if I can never have you

I am proud that I love you.

I wrote a lot of poems about you.

Scratched enough ink onto paper to fill oceans.

Funny thing is you were so fleeting

Just a brief moment in this last year.

There were moments I loved you

And moments I hated you

And everything inbetween

And whenever I sat to write a poem

It was your face I sketched out in ink.

And I don’t know if you know that.

But its really not that important to me anymore.

Because you’re gone

I’m standing

And I’m still writing.

I thought you were my muse

The one from whom all my inspiration flowed.

But I realized it was me experiencing the life you created

That gave me inspiration.

The whole time it came from me.

So I could write a thousand more poems about you.

I could fill another seven seas with ink

And it still wouldn’t matter.

Because even if you’re the face I’m sketching

I’m the one holding the pen.  

A Man Like You

I am proud I fell for a man who is kind.

A man who is warm and inviting.

A man who honestly cares.

I am proud I fell for a man who is sweet.

Because for a long time I didn’t.

I fell for men who were rough.

Men who were loud and crude.

Men who lied and cheated.

Men who couldn’t care less.

Because I didn’t think I was worthy of love.

Of love like yours.

Of a man like you.

So even if I never taste your apple juice lips

I will feel proud that I fell in love

I fell in love with a man like you. 

Just You

I want snowflake kisses.

I want our eyelashes getting caught in each others.

I want to find your lint in my pockets.

I want to treat your library like my own.

I want to brush my hair as much as I brush yours.

I want comfy sweaters and old pants to be our date attire.

I want the soft kitten feeling I get in my stomach when I’m near you.

I want your fingerprints to be over everything I own.

I want to be able to wear my own sweatshirt to bed because it smiles as much like you as your sweatshirt does.

I want dinners cooked in failing light.

I want my head on your shoulder and your hand on my knee.

I do not want roses

Or opera tickets

Or diamond rings.

I just want you.

You completely.

Just you. 

Back to the Place

I want to swing round light poles again.

I want to run through the rain gulping buckets again.

I want to walk on scalding hot ground barefoot again.

I want to actually feel like I belong again.

So I’m heading back to that town.

Back to the place I last swung around a light pole.

Back to the place I last ran through the rain gulping buckets.

Back to the place I walked on scalding hot ground barefoot.

 Back to the place I belong. 

Crows

Remember the night we took our measuring sticks

And we measured our pain against each other’s?

It was like a mirror.

Opposites reflecting down infinite hallways of who we could’ve become.

And I remember thinking

“You’re just like me.”

And I wondered if you thought the same.

Because from there on out you trusted me.

You saw where I had been and knew its where you’d gone.

But now you flittered off.

Like some strange snow white dove.

We were crows together.

Banished and black.

And now you’ve rolled in the flour outside the baker’s door

And pretending you’re a dove.

But I know better.

I know you’re a crow just like me.

And there is no shame in it.

No shame at all.

Its what we were born to be.

So when the flour wears off.

And you fly back to your crow home.

I’ll welcome you back

Because we once measured our pain against each other’s

And it came out just the same.

Just the same. 

But I LOVE Chubby Girls

I will not be your fetish.

I will not lower myself to an object.

I will not become something less than the queen I am.

Do not ask me to.

Do not tell me you like my type.

Because that is not love.

That is an object.

And I will not be yours.

I am strong.

I have a heart and a mind all my own.

I have fought battles against demons real and imaginary.

I have fought myself and won on so many battlefronts.

So do not defame me.

Do not make me any less than I am.

You say women have unrealistic ideas of men

But son,

What you’re asking for is an object.

Not me.

Not the person.

So get out.

Leave.

Because I will not be an object for you

For any man.

And I will not lower my standards to be one.

I see so many women

So down on themselves.

So degraded by media and by others.

They second guess themselves.

They have no idea their worth.

They figure the only way they’ll get love

Is by losing their identity.

But forget it.

I am strong.

I am woman.

I don’t care if you never love me.

Because what you’re offering

Isn’t love.