Untitled

It's the realization that you've been writing for one person.

I've been thinking lately-
how many lines were for you?
How many about you?
Was I thinking about you
every time I put pen to paper?-
Was I writing
what I fear to feel?

You spoke of beauty-and longing-
Love letters unsent-
and promises.

Did I take it too seriously-
you said-I love you.

But I feel it-
the pain in my stomach-
Disappointment
and sorrow.

Do I want to be Sappho?
Do I need to be-
a Muse to a Druid God?

Maybe I should be called Prometheus
or Helen-
Because I'm no longer chasing unicorns.
No longer playing games with Faeries-
and afraid-
so afraid.