always kind of strange to "lose"
and "find" pieces of me
and also very weird shelving myself,
but how appropriate.
hello moon, do you see me
and my books down here,
existing under your shadows
and shine,
all in due time?
you have to meet
the big muddy moments,
delivered to you
along with clean white roses
to love the little things
like a dirty Strand sticker on your first chapbook.
I wish there were
a social media platform
for these idiosyncrasies—
no lies or self help,
just bruises and dog-eared books.
as I close tabs in my life,
and drink coffee at night,
I am at peace with my war,
because I am just a shelf
of simple spines.