this poem isn’t for you. 
i know you think it is,
because all of them are. 
but this one is for me. 

this poem is for me. 
all of my struggles,
long nights in bed crying,
laborious thinking over what 
your one-word text could possibly mean:
i survived it all with
fire left to spare.

so no, baby. 
this poem is not for you. 
just once,
this poem is finally for me. 
—  j.e.b. ((this poem is for me.))