To He Who Loves the Writer

When she’s got the moon in her eyes,

don’t leave her. Take her hand and

rub the cold out of it.

When the stars arrive –

their suitcases in hand –

meet them at the door, her skin,

and tell them she can’t

take them in today, sorry.

Space can be so dark, so lonely.

Tighten the one between you and her

until it breaks, snap its neck.

She’s never needed anything

but someone to be there

when everything’s crushing,

and everything’s heavy,

and she’s trying to hold it all

until her arms give out.

She’ll hold the world up for you.

Don’t let her.


6 thoughts on “To He Who Loves the Writer

    1. That’s great to hear! And hmm, I think it did, hard to remember. It was probably just a comment on your gorgeous handling of language 🙂 Never ceases to amaze me.

  1. I can barely hold on to my own words these days, I’m afraid. I feel greedy. I can not come up with valuable-enough words for how this piece makes me feel. I know too many women like this.

    GOD! I swear
    I will return
    to all
    of these poems
    of yours
    that I keep saying
    I will return too…
    I swear.

    1. Yes. I think everyone is like this, to some extent.

      And don’t worry about it 🙂 Hope all is well with life! I know yours has been hectic. The best poetry comes from these periods. Always looking forward to it.


Thoughts? I love those.

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