Part of my poetry collection, Margins of the First Draft—in some of the literature I read a lot as a teen, the theme of praying to a god or a mother was quite strong. I borrowed that idea; it wasn’t mine. The words are though.

(Authors Note)

It Hurts

Oh God, oh Mother, I pray to thee

Please

Help me

Poetry on the Margins #14 Aftermath

Why does it seem, in times like these,
that to love
is to die?

I still think
that the ability to love another is a gift,
and the ability to love once more
is even more of a gift.

And to love for a decade, or two —
is even a bigger gift.

Love transforms us.
It truly does.

For love doesn't just come in “one size fits all” —
and sometimes, it does
hurt a little.