I spoke with an author who told me that he’s falling in love. It instantly made me think (and say aloud) “Oh it will be wonderful when you die, and years from now, when someone reads your poems to her, your love will live on in your words.”
Hopefully that reads less awkward then it sounded.
Either way the end result was this poem, a genre I haven’t written in since high school when I pledged to write a poem everyday. The ten journals full of prose will be the handprint I leave for the future to enjoy, and long after I’m gone the love stories I lived will become immortal.
All the Men I loved All the Men I loved Were lucky Not just because they had me Nor that they could touch the edges of the flame inside of me But because I loved them through prose Each of them differed Like leaves on a tree Changing in color from Green, yellow, orange, a hint of blue But it started the color of coal With the first I was uneasy stilted Stuttered Sha ken In My Words So I forgive him How was he to understand that I’d take his pain? And make it my own if I could When I couldn’t find the words myself? But the rest of them didn’t get me Not really Never truly understood the passion in my belly Or how it would continue to bubble Until my fingers began their work That whether it was ink to paper Or typing on a screen It was really my blood on the page All the Men I loved Live on in my work As does our story Those tatterd and worn sheets Torn out of my notebook Which I handed them in-between classes Ended up Shoved in the bottom of their backpack Forgetten They took my words for granted Didn’t bother to deeply understand The way I let words tell me Where To Put Them All the Men I loved Never knew how fervently I loved them How I could see through their skin Past their smiles which were brighter than the sun Deep into the color of their eyes Blue like the sea, green like freshly cut grass, darker than the night sky Even alternating, with no reason, like a broken mood ring. All the Men I loved Were never carried away by my words Never wrapped in the warmth of my tone All the Men I loved Left my poems in a crumpled mess Torn and mismatched like they left my heart All the Men I loved Never really loved me