Letter from Anais Nin BY ~Clementine von Radics

For women who are tied to the moon,
 
 love alone is not enough. 
 
We insist each day wrap it’s knuckles through our heart strings and pull. 
 
The lows. The joy. The poetry. 
 
We dance at the edge of a cliff, you have fallen off.
 
 So it goes. You will climb up again.

You rare girl, once again, you have a body that belongs to no lover, to no father, belongs to no one but you. 
 
Wear your sorrow like the lines on your palm. 
 
Like a shawl to keep you warm at night.
 
 Don’t mourn the love that is lost to you now. 
 
It is a book of poems whose meters worked their way into your pulse. Even if it has slipped from your hands, it will stay in your body.
You loved a man who treated you like absinthe, half poison and half god. 
 
He tried to sweeten you, to water you down. So you left. 
 
And now you have your heart all to yourself again. 
 
A heart like a stone cottage.
 
Heart like a lover’s diary. 
 
Hope like an ocean.
― Letter from Anais Nin to Clementine von Radics 
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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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