Real Tragedy

You were there when my magic woke up.

It was an effortful weaving of tapestry,
Making the relationship happen,
But I loved dancing that dance.

I remember what I saw in you,
How I felt.

It’s not that there wasn’t something real,
As much as it was endless, tireless work for me.

I still believed myself unworthy,
Still believed the labor of love was upheaval.

To love myself has been to transform;
I must have thought the same of you
And tried to make that happen.

Change has saved me, and so,
With hope and care, I tended to your goodness,
Neverminding the thorn-pricks of your fear.

I saw all the darkness and loved across it.
I placed seeds of faith into the cracks of your concrete,
Hoping soil would find its way to me.

I was too weary to find my own soil back then.
I will forgive myself, in time.

Our friends tell me you’re moving
Like you know you did something wrong.
I can’t imagine why.

Starving a woman for personhood,
Only releasing her with violence on your breath,
Hiding away while she escapes.
Those are things proud men do,
Right?

It’s not hate that I feel for you, not quite.
It’s closer to pity.

“You’ll never find someone like me again!”
Is a platitude for my ego;
You clearly didn’t want someone like me.

And that’s the real tragedy.
A woman driven by hope and movement is
A woman of life.

Starving me of my aliveness because you are ashamed of yours?

That reads as a death sentence for you.