Phrases hang in the sky
words grow on a tree
ideas float on water
it's all ordinary to me

Grass is the parchment
on which I write stories
my thoughts a jar of ink
I use to describe the glories

The world is my sketchbook
full of imaginary tales
which I still have to write
unhidden by any veils

The pen is my greatest love
which I play by hand
my stories, I bind them together
in the boundless poets land

and every night
when you steal
seconds to glance
at the moon, I
hope you slip
into hours, days of
being reminded
of me,
running through your bones,
moving like the stars,
that maybe I was
not made to be the sun,
because, perhaps,
you are,
and all I did was
reflect to show you,
that the moon was
never second best,
just a reminder of you,
when you shone
somewhere else.

i am the moon | shevaun stonem

it’s funny how I
write of things I
know and things I
don’t- and someone,
somewhere,
has lived
through my
poetry and prose.

poetry and prose | shevaun stonem

When I was a child,
I was taught poetry wasn't mild,
It was deep as the sea,
And it seemed truly unachievable for me.
I was taught poetry had to rhyme,
Every single line, every single time.
So poetry seemed out of my reach,
Like chasing a seagull down a beach,
Jumping ever so slightly away,
Or soaring into the sunny day.

So I never thrived for what I thought would,
No, Could
Never be.

I guess now I'm fixing the mistakes of past me.

Someone told me once
that I should write for me
in my poetry

But I really want
to write for others to make them happy
in my poetry

So here in this poem
you will surely see
in my poetry

Laugh out loud
laugh a lot
at my poetry!

I never believed in happy endings
My life was insipid until I met you
I first slept by the ocean under the stars with you
Once tangled in blue, I am now tangled with you

You filled the cracks in my skin with vibrant colours
And healed all my bruises with a simple touch
With you, my life is full of surprises and wonders
I am so full of love now, there's no space for any hatred or grudge