I’m sick of writing about you
This is a love poem to myself
You had a hard fucking year
Everything caught on fire around you
And all you could do for awhile was run your fingers through the ashes
And look around at the ruins
Tiptoeing quietly around them like they are the Coliseum,
Like you were preserving history
All blank eyes and quiet lips
You forgot for a little while
That the victors write the history books
And you could still win
You had a hard fucking year
Tell me how you came out stronger than ever
I see you
You stand taller now
Tell me how you did that
Tell me how many nights you spent with your notebook and pen,
Knowing that, for a girl with the name of a book, words are the only path to salvation
Tell me how you saved yourself
You had a hard fucking year
Half of it you spent in a daze
Your mother calls it going through the motions
You call it hell
The second half was when you realized you were the hero of this story
Tell me how you picked yourself up
Tell me how you found that your yoga studio is the easiest place to breathe
Tell me how you gave up your self-destructive tendencies only to find that your mind was a beautiful place to live
Actually,
Let me tell you something
You are a warrior
Do you see what you made it through this year?
You are a warrior
And I,
Finally,
And completely,
Love you
