When you date a writer

You will be written about.

Bad, good, middle of the road,

It’s inevitable.

When you date a writer

Never say to her:

“You can’t write about this.”

She’ll consider it a dare.

When you date a writer

Be prepared

To have your imperfections adored,

Your mannerisms memorized.

If that writer is also a poet,

Tread carefully.

Understand there was something about you that drew her in

And that she’s not shaken off easily,

When there’s love involved.

She won’t run;

She’ll dig her heels in

Hope to understand you

Every dirty, hidden detail.

When this poet loves you

It’s because she sees something

In you

Something she needs.

If she looks in your eyes

And sees something missing

Or broken

She’ll try to fix it

Or replace it

Or just take on your feelings

Like a chameleon taking on the color of a branch or leaves.

Without really noticing

She’ll turn into someone other than herself

And be exactly who you want her to be

Just to keep you

For a while.

If it goes on long enough,

She’ll forget who she was

Without you

And fade away

Happily lost in smells and taste and touch.

When you love this poet

And then decide to fade away yourself

A ghost

She bleeds purple ink

All over pretty notebook pages

She bleeds words

All over anonymous blogs

She loves you and hates you and dissects the whole fucking thing

It’s seventh grade science class all over again

Your affair is the frog,

Body cavity cut open

Exposing all the gory insides

To be poked at, pushed around

Examined apprehensively.

What once was vibrant and full of life

Is reduced to a cold, slimy mass,

Cause of death:

Unknown.

And the purple ink flows on and on.

When you date/love/leave a writer.

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