I Don’t Know If I Ever Stopped Loving You
it’s been two years
since i last saw you,
but i’m still writing
poems about you.
it’s been two years
since i last saw you,
but i’m still writing
poems about you.
It’s not poetic or tragically beautiful or whatever the hell people naively think brokenness is.
you are more
than the
wars and storms
that your skin
has fought.
show them that
they are never entitled
to a woman’s body
just because they can see it.
Who gave you permission to write about him when he doesn’t deserve your poetry?
I want the epilogue more than the prologue because I already know how the beginning ends.