For the dinner table. For the men who have made you believe that you are some place that can be left. You move like a thief in a jewelry store, always poised for an alarm, for a mistake, and I don’t know how to tell you that the diamonds are already yours. For the coffee mug with your name on it. For the yoga mat in the closet that is forgetting your hands. I want to be with you in the place where you have not made yourself small, in the place where you still love my poetry and don’t smile like surrender. For the home in your throat. For your ankles. For the prayer in your teeth. I love you like freedom. I love you like there is no room for anything else. I love you like straight spine. I wish you would stand up and meet me there.
Caitlyn Siehl, For the Dinner Table (via alonesomes)
