questions

she asked me
if these poems were about you
if
when i picked up my pen
you were still my muse

she said
she could see you in my smile
claimed you
were the stoned wall that was wrapped around my heartbeat

she said my love poems
sounded as if they were written by praying hands
that said your name right after i said amen

and my hate poems
sounded like someone
had broken a glass menagerie filled with all of our hopes and dreams

she said i loved you
still
and she was tired of finding you
tucked into places in my heart that she didnt even know existed

maybe she came too soon
maybe in letting you go i forgot how to hold on
maybe i didnt know what being done was

because i said we were done
but how
could i convince her of something that i wasnt sure of myself

but these poems were not about you
and you are no more of my muse
than she

but you knew that
and she
only knew what she force herself to believe

because you knew me
just enough to tuck yourself into places in my heart that i would stumble upon in my dreams

you knew that i wrote in my dreams
so you waited for me
right above the clouds
and whispered your name into my thoughts
so when i closed my eyes
and sketched my heart into words
scrolled across a blank canvases

everything i wrote

was still about you

paulwroteit/copyright 2014