Blackout Poetry Notes

Headache of Envy

I'm glad I was selfish
for he was a
headache of envy,
a quarrel of
foolish temper.

I am strong,
and I must respect
that practical balance
unique to the conflict of a woman,
delicate and feminine.

I may never be happy,
but I am content.

Spend time in my imagination,
peer into the crack in the door
walk directly into my
vast space of words.

Your love is 
a home for me.

Rich pink, pale peach, smokey yellow,
violent orange, pale lavender, bright blue.
Color exploding in this life.

She blossomed
with a heart mild as a dove,
and a love
ever fierce and tender.

A poem is
language to me.

Those deep eyes
light a fire
in me.

Love is a kind of
fever,
slow and consuming.