It feels like an admission of guilt. "I used to write a lot of poetry."
I think it's a weakness. "I used to write a lot of poetry."
I am embarrassed to say: "I used to write a lot of poetry."
But it is true.
So here goes. Here I go again:
For you both I would,
give up all self.
But I can't, because you need me
as me. Imperfect, yet whole.
The heart cracks and we draw with chalk, making virtues of the fissures.
"My mother taught me this," I say.
"My mother taught me this," you'll say.
Each one of us, desperately intertwined, kicking the net.
A few great things happen each lifetime. These are mine.
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