Ode to ‘You’
How can anyone love me
like I am
when I am
not pretending
to be lovable:
not painting my face,
or disintegrating my body,
or making excuses
as to why I left
the door open again,
why the books unspiral
into stories about you.
How can anyone know me
after I crumble like a cathedral
when it’s god abandons it to the tide
of bad believers, rushing in and out.
Like the little angel on the spire
my mouth is full of sunlight,
burning,
burning,
burning.
The last
real
consequence.
I say this is my job:
to burn,
to make it art.
But you won’t love me
like this,
like a weapon,
like the last person
to carry a religion.
In my devotion
a violence rises
to my lips.
I desire control
but I will
not find it
through you.
I know what I need
and what I want.
How can anyone remember me.
You’ll see me walking
over foreign continents,
giving you the impression
of all the sharp objects
who will not save you
from yourself.
And I’ll be happy
giving myself
to something else
much bigger
than your love.
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Fireee as always. I love the structure and the metaphors you use in this poem. It makes it very real and relatable.