The Woman In My Poems

She’s followed me everywhere I’ve ever been—

in my oldest memories and wildest dreams

Even when they’re happening.

At nights I feel her accompany me when there’s no one lying by my side

As if she knows intimately the reassurance that I constantly seek 

in one place or the other.

I’ve never really had the heart to tell her that no matter who’s keeping me company 

I’m always feeling alone.

But I think she knows.

She never tells me that it’s gonna be alright or that things will get better

She’s just there. Present. And isn’t that more than enough?

It doesn’t matter what I’m writing about, she always finds a way to entangle herself in the words that I pour out.

I write her unaddressed sonnets, haikus, odes, and ballads—

But I know I won’t write her eulogy

Because when I’m going to the grave, she’s coming with me.

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