The poet you fell in love with

This is me,
The poet you fell in love with
With all her silly murder mysteries and inconceivable love stories
With all her grand big ideas bursting out of her head
In all the excitement and vigor
That you fell in love with

This is me,
The college student that you didn't know you would've fallen in love with
Weaving the words that she loved the most
Just for a few nods of approval
Wanting to be in, but also be out
Always reaching for strangers and far away places
When all she wanted to be was
home

This is me,
The star-crossed lover that you didn't want to have to be loving
Again
All she wanted to keep was the fact that she managed to find happiness
Even in the worst times of her life
So that she can remind herself
That happiness is what she can make wherever she goes

This is me,
The poet you fell in love with
But she never wrote anything for you
Because every single thing she wrote
Or drew
Or made
Killed whatever was left of the ones never meant to last
But she did write a prayer on the first page of her new journal that said:
God, grant me the most truthful of beliefs
Till I may roam your earth in your faith and name
Grant me a peace of mind
That comes from remembrance of your company
Grant me tireless servitude and sweat
That comes from the certainty of your design
For there is no might or power except those of yours

This is me,
The basic, callous bitch you had to spend time falling in love with
She might have come off as weird
Or uncomfortably uncouth
But she's learning.
Pray, she's come so, so, so, so far with these things
From the poet you fell in love with

This is me,
The scarred lump of trembling anxiety you deem too emotionally expensive to keep falling in love with
She loves being good and being loved
So at the slightest chance of imperfection
when she is sized up and scanned for flaws
By gallant, impenetrable hearts,
She kicks water at sea and forgets how not to drown
Her thorns show and her nose just under
Paddling padding paddling
Just hoping to come up again

So remain at the seaboat
To sail yourself away, alive
Or watch
As she stops fighting the currents
And reminds herself how to float
To shore
With words
For you
As she heals the scratches and dries her wrinkled fingers
Out loud
Being the silly, bright, loving, although sometimes scared,
Poet you could've fallen in love with

Written March 2019