“You’re a writer.” You say.
“How would you write me?”
I get this question usually four times a day.
I laugh it off,
Because most of the time I wouldn’t.
My friends are nice
But they are not heroes.
Then you ask,
And I have an answer.

I would write you like a poem,
difficult to understand and making little sense.
I would write you like Shakespeare.
Put on a pedestal,
analyzed and picked apart.
Everyone knows “Shall I compare thee to a summers day?”
But how many people memorize sonnet 131.
“Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art.”

I would write you whimsical,
and call it The Mysterious Shrinking Giant.
I would write you into a fairytale,
and call it revenge.
What a cruel joke,
when your life is closer to political fiction
than it ever was to fairytale.

I would write you like nonsense.
Might as well use a blindfold.
Slam my hands on the keyboard
until they turned red,
then look at the screen
and be surprised to find words.

Beautiful thing,
blonde
like a promise.
Heart of fire,
soul of stone.

“Exactly like you are.”
I say back.
And before you do
I know you’re going to smile.