I once knew a man who wanted to hold
his sadness closer than he ever wanted
to hold me and there was no way I could win.
I can pretend that I have forgiven him
for it but the truth is, I never will.
Yet sometimes you find that you want to
hold your crazy closer than you would
ever want to hold anyone else.
But then you find yourself
standing on a rooftop and a man
is there holding your hand.
And you lose hold of
your crazy long enough
To hold him accountable.
To hold his attention.
To hold him tight.
Sometimes a woman wants to hold her crazy
closer to her than she wants to hold you
and although it’s hard to believe, it’s true.
Sometimes the beginning comes so suddenly.
Sometimes you understand that
you don’t understand anything
except that you are
hot to the touch,
that the breeze is cool,
that it takes all you have
to hold to this moment
and that you’d let go
if he came with you.
I started this poem in my head a few days ago, and had every intention of dedicating it to the man who inspired the original poem on which it was based. But as I said to someone just a few days ago, nearly every poem I ever write is about at least 3 people at the same time, and this one is no exception.
The end of July is a rough time for me, historically speaking, and I am so glad to say that this July 31 finds me in the oddest circumstances I could have ever thought possible. But that man who holds his sadness too tightly seems to be learning how to loosen his grip, little by little, and the man currently holding my attention is a puzzle I’m having a great time solving.
At the end of the day, I’ll always be the woman who holds her crazy closer than anything or anyone else. Take it or leave it.