This is my humble homage to Rachel Wetzsteon, an incredible poet who loved, perhaps, too much.

My new favorite poet
is Wetzsteon,
Rachel, pronounced wet-stone.
I hate her. really.
The New York Times
informs me  
she took her life
over the loss of a lover.
a lover, of all things,
and one she relished
only three short,
violent years.
This poet Wetzsteon,
pronounced wet-stone,
loved her woman--
And I love this poet now
just as I hate her now
for feeling enough passion
to take her life
enough passion
that would deprive me
of all the words
I know I want to say
but don't know how to say
those lost, pretty words,
all those telling, stinging words  
that she can't say
and I can't say--
not now.

The End

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