poem from my sister Marguerite

Poetry saved my life once. My sister Marguerite is going through a tough time, and her muse is right there with her toughing it out. And helping to save her life.

Waiting for a man,
I am, it’s who I am,
and who I want to be,
and who I’ve always been.

But something’s different now,
than when it was back then,
back when,
I didn’t know the man
was not supposed to be
the thing that made me full.
That comes from somewhere else,
so I can have a chance
to make it with a man.

What’s different is inside,
where loneliness still dwells,
but sometimes doesn’t rule.
My body doesn’t burn,
instead it seems to bloom,
scrubbed to a nub,
open to everyone,
waiting for just one.