how can a poetess, such as I,
a writer of love,
her desire for it,
her continued search
of its perfection,
be asked to step away
from her attachment towards
its existence, so that she
might find her place in someone’s
world?
they don’t know me at all.
drag me through
verdant covered angles
with
leaves thriving, cascading.
allow blossoms to reach
my nose. Inhale the beauty
as life is exposed. Take
me back to where
happiness found me.
guide
my spiritual growth;
renew.
There’s nothing I said
I didn’t mean
Meant it, from my heart
From the deepest part of me
His pleasure to cherish
That’s what he said
Before placing her
Between his heart
And his head
Be who you are
Show me how we’re okay
Like the darkest cloud
In a sky of blue
Prove to me
They’re beautiful, too.
Oldest Daughter & Red Headed Sister 