Dear Poetry
Dear Poetry, how are you?
It has been a while since we dissolved in the dark and talked.
You are the one who kept me awake at midnight,
huddled under the heavy bedcovers in my youth,
with a tiny flashlight for illumination,
just so I could map out every hidden thought.
Years passed, and that dim plastic flashlight
grew into a steady, internal beacon.
The heavy bedcovers became the walls of a harsher adult world,
but our relentless mapping never stopped.
Do you recall when the chaotic winters of life
finally tried to bring me to my knees?
I cried, crushed by the weight of my longing for a misleading love affair—
someone who tossed my devotion away like yesterday's garbage,
splintering the deepest vault of my being.
But together, we transformed that raw, bleeding emotion
into a masterpiece of forever ink on immortal pages.
That exact heartbreak became a prize-winning confession—
Turns out, the world will pay to see you spill your guts in print.
I guess what I am trying to say is: you are everything to me.
You have been my truest companion
through the longest stretches of isolation and ash.
Because of you, I learned to let go of the anger,
the frustrations, the letdowns, and the fallouts—
the heavy burden of mourning a discarded love.
Because of you, I am someone who stands strong.
I bled the hard truths and chose to be a survivor.
Dear Poetry, don't you ever forget that I am here for you,
just like you have always been here for me.
So, I hope you finally understand
just how magnificently important you are to me.
We won't let go of each other—not while the ink still runs.
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