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Swift311
16/M
Poems1
Words184
If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, Disbelief would become my roommate for a year. I would summon ink in my body to flow through me. It would then penetrate my moist fingertips and get spilt on an old, dusty, crumbled and tattered piece of paper; the six strings of my heart would strum symphonies that paint your face on my canvas, and I would laugh a little joy, cry a little pain. But in the end, I would smile. The white vinegar of our memories would clear the rust from my iron heart, and my lost emotions would return home again to my pen. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would write about how I decided to tie my heart’s shoelaces with yours forever, but ended up tripping and falling into you. I would write about how weird a feeling I had the first time we stood face to face. It was like I met an angel who was a thief in disguise. You stole from me. You stole my keys. The keys to the room where my speech used to dwell. You left me both dumb and dumbfounded. I was awed by your soul’s power to stitch so pure a person that it was worth persuading my eyes to follow you. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would stay up all night thinking of why I never said what my heart held inside to you. I would scratch my head and look for words that suit you, that you deserve. I would try to request the afterglow to face your windows and the moon to smile at you throughout the moonlit night. I would skip stones on the river in the night sky, and form vast galaxies that would tip-toe into your eyes from mine. I would pencil your name on my life and play dusty harmonies on my typewriter. I’d dive into your eyes. I’d sink into you. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would try to write about how I learned to love my life just because I had you in it; like learning to ride a bicycle or performing some experiment: I was scared of getting scars but I realized the sacredness of those scars only after I got them. I would write about how I want you to listen to my heartbeats whispering your name out loud, how I want my eyes to cherish your smile one last time before you go out of my sight. I would write about how your eyes open into the caverns of your love. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would try to write you a love poem such that I could paint a picture of what you mean to me. I would try to breathe some honesty and pen down every little detail about the divinity that you hold inside yourself. I’d stutter while reciting it in front of the mirror and I would never have the guts to hand the poem that I wrote, to you. Because I never reached that place where I could. I’d also realize: there is no power in the infinite cosmic ocean that can describe perfection. ~ Swift!
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Aug 27, 2021
Aug 27, 2021 at 6:15 AM UTC
Swift311
A Poem for you
If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, Disbelief would become my roommate for a year. I would summon ink in my body to flow through me. It would then penetrate my moist fingertips and get spilt on an old, dusty, crumbled and tattered piece of paper; the six strings of my heart would strum symphonies that paint your face on my canvas, and I would laugh a little joy, cry a little pain. But in the end, I would smile. The white vinegar of our memories would clear the rust from my iron heart, and my lost emotions would return home again to my pen. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would write about how I decided to tie my heart’s shoelaces with yours forever, but ended up tripping and falling into you. I would write about how weird a feeling I had the first time we stood face to face. It was like I met an angel who was a thief in disguise. You stole from me. You stole my keys. The keys to the room where my speech used to dwell. You left me both dumb and dumbfounded. I was awed by your soul’s power to stitch so pure a person that it was worth persuading my eyes to follow you. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would stay up all night thinking of why I never said what my heart held inside to you. I would scratch my head and look for words that suit you, that you deserve. I would try to request the afterglow to face your windows and the moon to smile at you throughout the moonlit night. I would skip stones on the river in the night sky, and form vast galaxies that would tip-toe into your eyes from mine. I would pencil your name on my life and play dusty harmonies on my typewriter. I’d dive into your eyes. I’d sink into you. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would try to write about how I learned to love my life just because I had you in it; like learning to ride a bicycle or performing some experiment: I was scared of getting scars but I realized the sacredness of those scars only after I got them. I would write about how I want you to listen to my heartbeats whispering your name out loud, how I want my eyes to cherish your smile one last time before you go out of my sight. I would write about how your eyes open into the caverns of your love. If you would ever ask me to write a poem for you, I would try to write you a love poem such that I could paint a picture of what you mean to me. I would try to breathe some honesty and pen down every little detail about the divinity that you hold inside yourself. I’d stutter while reciting it in front of the mirror and I would never have the guts to hand the poem that I wrote, to you. Because I never reached that place where I could. I’d also realize: there is no power in the infinite cosmic ocean that can describe perfection. ~ Swift!
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