because life does not exist beyond your borders—
because there is beauty and honor and faith in every lifestyle
not just the one in which you are comfortable—
because lack can inspire higher heights than wealth—
because the sliced bread atmosphere
of enough to waste and always the same, the same,
does not breed the art i am seeking,
omits the will and strength and awareness i desire—
the image i seek is one unended sentence,
a fragment reeling into completion
aided by heat and the smell of your post-coital skin—
because dim rooms are a bit brighter when
there is something (the slope of a quiet body) to be seen—
because dark rooms are a bit emptier
when the twin thrust of love surrenders to lack—
and all this being said i can't deny the space
where your body should be,
the sentences your mouth should finish for me.

once a girl wrote a poem
(where is that poem now?)
once a girl sent words
careening through the universe,
and all for hopes
and ego and for the prayer
of never breaking.
it is all paltry,
it is all worthless,
what can be said now
that was not said more eloquently
during the renaissance,
during adolescence or the night
when love was soft like rain
but was not heaven-sent.
once a girl wrote a poem
(where are those words now?)
but the message is so easily lost
and the phrases so easily broken.

because i have been very sick, i've learned to every day love being healthy. because i have been very lonely, i've learned to every day love my family and friends. because i have been very poor, i've learned to every day love being employed. because i have been very scared, i've learned to every day love feeling safe.

there is honesty in learning how to respect the lessons i have earned.