You have loved
flightless
girls with wings
painted on their backs
who prayed that you
were a strong enough
wind to carry them up
off of their feet and
teach them to fly
You have loved
sinking
stones of women
on their way to the bottoms
of wells who wished
upon your body
for the strength to carry
them home to keep
polished on a shelf
You have loved
bloodless
bodies carved from marble
who hoped that your
softness would awaken
something human
in their hollow rib cages
so that they could
learn to tango
You are muse
soaring too close to the sun
paddling to stay above water
soaking in a puddle of blood
sick to your stomach
over never learning
to play dead
when you got in
over your head
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