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a poem about self love.

My husband's wife
likes to stop
and look for friends
in strange places.

Under rocks,
inside flowers,
rolled in silk
between tree leaves.

But also in
less savory places:
deep damp holes,
cobwebbed knots in trees
the corners of the basement
where spiders scurry.

She refuses to be afraid
of any creature,
great or small,
she loves everything instead.

Just because.

For the lives they live,
the way that they crawl,
the paths they tread.

She loves them all.

What I mean to say is
I wish my husband's wife
loved me
as much as she loved
the rest of the

Unloveable.