She always told the better stories
Better than any I had heard before
Never selfish or indulgent
I grew used to unknown hands reaching through the glass
Placing themselves where they don't belong.
where I don’t think they ever belonged.
They never asked nor were they wanted.
My mind would ache at sunset.

But she stuck her arm out
And we hold hands through the flywire.

As we should.
As we must.

I would fall in love with the words before anything else.
Pages upon pages would tumble out of her mouth and onto my forehead like a soft rain
There was nothing else I could do but to gaze upward and watch them fall.
Watch the kingdoms and worlds live and die brilliantly.
fantastically
It always made me giddy.
Even when I know the castle can never be reached
And the dragons aren’t real.

Oh my sweetest deity
You make me want things
I want to be a good person
A whole person
I want to write about sex and love without fear or confusion.
I want to never be bored.
I want to love my skin
purely and only for the reason
That it is my own and I live here

I want to make my art in a garden that doesn’t belong to me
As I did once before
I will again.
I want to be the lady in the film
With the bangs and the bows
Someone get me a bike and a baguette.
I always knew what she wanted
To be older
But not old.
I want
I want
I want
But wanting is empty
Longing is romantic.

Longing is beautiful.
The tragical romance to never occur
The meaningful confessions
It’s me!!
I pine, I perish, I promise you I do!
I think I miss everyone who’s ever said my name out loud.
Here is my hand? What do you think?

The mystery of all things romantic
That’s part of the appeal I suppose.

How are the poets so sure?
I shout to the willow tree
All the answers to bliss hidden within the branches
They never tell me
I mean, why would they?
My poetry is full of questions
And I probably need to stop yelling at trees.

Instead I pull out my dark red turtleneck from its home
To throw it to the wind
And everything that came with it.
My first step away from wanting
To having,
To keeping,
To longing once more.

I showed you my hand, now show me yours.