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A poet told me

to write about
you. Write it

out, honey.

As if you were
a fever or

a horse to break.

As if you don’t
already show up,

uninvited,

unbeckoned,
into every poem.

Your hand

guides my wrist
as I write this,

even now.

–Sierra DeMulder, from “And if I Am to Forgive You,”

Reposted from flowerstandman