Read by Moonlight

A poet goes golfing Which is weird for the poet as she purposefully put herself in a place of white, old men Which is the epitome of hell, if you’ve read her poems But it’s alone, and quiet Like she is now since he left A poet eats her dinner alone Which is supposed to be radical and progressive since she needs no man But this was his favorite table Where their favorite story stemmed from A poet goes dancing with her friends to show she can still move like the ocean The curves of her body pulling and stretching like the tides with every twist And she proves she is still a roadside flower Unknown to the common man, But still beautiful, still wild Growing in places where she wasn’t meant to grow A poet goes to write But cannot for there’s no one to read it to There’s no one to critique it anymore It’s just a poet in her apartment, writing at a desk Because at the end of the day, she’s just a poet No longer is anyone’s home A poet goes shopping And feels naked trying on clothes Because her body feels cold and unfamiliar Without him wrapped around it, Without him to tell her she looks beautiful The poet feels naked Without him