You’re my raven-haired goddess who swallowed the sun,
sisterlover to my lunar body.
Let me warm myself on the hearth of your breast;
let me melt into your polished amber curves.
And when you doubt yourself,
let your radiance cast me in light and shadow;
I will show you the reflection of your beauty on my face.
you strike me like flint
set fire to my soul’s kindling
from one spark, such words
I could not share you, not even a sliver. Perhaps that makes me selfish; perhaps that makes me wise. I try to imagine you laughing with someone the way you laugh with me, for once truly at peace, and jealousy tightens around my lungs. I try to imagine you cooking dinner for someone else and running into their arms when they walk through the door and my heart constricts. I can share you with friends and family. I can spare you for the hours each day we both have to work. But stand by while a portion of your affection, your body, your love is gifted to another? I would shatter. I would crumble. I may not believe myself worthy of your devotion, but I’m still selfish enough to hoard the candlelight in your eyes and the poetry on your lips. Those are mine. You are mine.
all these scraps of thoughts
disparate as grains of sand
I am a desert
I can’t save the world. I can’t change society. I’m only one person, after all. I can improve the lives of maybe one hundred people on some miniscule level. Twenty-five significantly, in all the years I live. But one life, your life, I can change completely and forever. I can wake you from your nightmares. I can tell you you’re beautiful, even if you’ll never believe me, because you’ll still know I believe it. I can give you a cottage by the ocean or a farmhouse surrounded by fields surrounded by forest, and dogs to run in that forest, and vegetables to grow in those fields. I can show you a happiness you never thought possible for yourself and in that way I will change the entire world for you, and that will be a legacy worth leaving.
She says to write about myself but I don’t know how. If I try to look too deep all I see are the individual pieces I’ve gathered like a crow building its nest; scraps of sound, shards of sight, pieces of texture and taste and temptation. I lose my sense of self to the mosaic until I forget if I’m a girl or just sea salt and fog and candleflicker in dark windows. When I turn within myself and ask “who am I?” no voice answers. All I hear is the susurration of the ocean and the wind through pine boughs. When I turn within myself and ask “what am I?” all I feel is the heartbeat of mountains and the stars revolving overhead.