I looked at the drafts of my poems today
I found the descriptions of an ocean girl soaked into the pages,
And I almost cried.
I can’t remember any other poems that have ever been entangled with a girl,
I can’t remember any other day I loved my identity enough
To want to turn it into art,
I can’t remember another day that the person I wrote a love poem about
Was anything other than bruising
Was soft and kind
And passionately angry at a world that hurts those she loves.
I can’t remember the last time
I let myself imagine the fairy tale of silk and satin,
Of rainbows and bunnies and cotton candy
And girls made of gentle words and star-filled eyes.
I can’t remember the last time I have ever loved a girl not made of liquid nitrogen,
Not about to destroy every light around her,
A girl without an escape velocity faster than my heart has ever beaten.
This girl is made of all crashing waves and quiet mornings,
She is an ocean of emotions I have yet to know about her,
But already want to write poems about.
She is not the sky, or the sun,
And what a relief it is that she isn’t.
She is laughter, the very essence of a shy smile.
She is violets under moonlight, limbs splayed across clean sheets.
She is angry where I can’t be and soft where I am afraid to be.
I can’t remember the last time I wrote poems
About an ocean girl.
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