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March 25, 2016

To My Muse. {poem}

man

I found an old poem

I had written for you/
of you/
as a result of you….

so much of me is a result of you.

I am what exists underneath
the layers that—
lovingly forceful,
at times provocatively, then,
at times so patiently–
you asked me to remove.

Oh how it once felt
you were asking for so much.
Too much.
What did I have to give/
to reveal/
explain,
so that you would
know that I was just as terrified as you
to be at love’s mercy.

That no matter
how many words
I write,
I cannot define love
anymore than anyone else
who does not need
to understand it
to trust it.

Now I trust that
I have so much more
to give/
to feel/
to know…

That is what love does,
isn’t it?
Embeds another within us
and in its immensity,
moves us to
feel/
be/
give so much more.

To in some way
transform our feelings
into art,
an exquisite expression
unique to only
the writer and her muse
who know all
that is left unwritten.
All that is
still to be found.

Take my words
as yours and read
my sweet truths,
know that
every poem written
is but a means of
loving you still.

My love, my muse.

I read an old poem
I had written for you….

and found that most of you
still exists/
is felt/
loved,
beyond words,
unfinished,
in my heart.

~

Author: Tiffany Anderson

Editor: Caitlin Oriel 

Image: Brian Mann/Unsplash

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