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If you find a man
the mere thought of whom
makes you wake up
in the middle of the night
just to churn out words
in a way you didn’t think you could
if he makes you write
so incredibly natural
it’s almost unnatural
and your poems make people cry
because your words just speak to them
and you didn’t even try

then,
no matter who he is
no matter if it’s love
no matter if it’s wrong
no matter if it doesn’t last forever
no matter if he does not see you that way
no matter if he does not feel the same way

you have no choice
but to embrace the flame

* * *

(as an afterthought)
you embrace the flame
for as long as you can
until it gets too hot
then you step out of the room
and walk away

not knowing
you’re just hunting for the next predator
to make your writing hand his prey

* * *

(as a beforethought)
because I’m not going to live vicariously
through my own poetry

.

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