This is my blessing on you and also my curse. A poem.

It’s a weird thing, being a woman who is too much

Too big, too demanding, too clear on what she wants.

Too vital, vibrating with passion and lust for life.

You’ll never be happy with anyone who is less though.

This is my blessing on you and also my curse.

I have my own curses to deal with.

The way I still sleep on ‘my side’ of the bed

And leave room for your car in the driveway.

The way I offer you my family, my body, my love,

My fucking incorrigible heart.

I’ve spent my life waiting for men to finally love me,

—fathers, brothers, husbands, lovers—

appropriately, truly, fully. All of me. Foibles, failings,

My imperfections as much as my goodness.

But not one has. Not. One.

So I’m making plans. Picking up my old guitar,

Getting out apron patterns to sew for Christmas gifts,

Window shopping the sad dating apps.

And dancing my pain, trying to dance it out of my body

One hand slamming into my chest, right above my heart

As if that could stop the pain, the love, the excess

Of feeling a well that is never empty.

I make myself eat and push past the apathy.

Exercise, breathe, go to the doctor, dentist,

Feed the dogs and cats. I drug myself to sleep

Every night in my solitary bed.

I love myself enough to try and save me

From this. And yet, there’s still that side

Of the driveway. The empty side of the bed.

There are parts of me that wait still.

Parts, most violently my heart,

That only open for you.

Bettina Colonna, November 6, 2024