When I met you, you were wearing piggy tales and fairy wings.
outside with a magnifying glass held over a beetle you poked and prodded with your mothers sewing needle.
Trying to direct the sunlight through the glass.
you were so witty, clever and full of sass
I asked what you were doing and you said.
"I'm being a fairy. and making fireflies out of these boring black bugs that are nothing out of the ordinary."
You jumped back when the bug caught fire.
I'm not really sure which one of us jumped higher.
Your eyes were wide as the flame quickly died.
As did the bug.
I started to whimper like the cry baby I was.
You just stood up and gave me a hug.
You said
"It's alright, he's a firefly now. He'll be shining bright, flying around by night."
Like a fool, I believed your story.
After all, you were just a little girl.
And I a little boy.
What happened to you?
I miss your piggy tales
and your fairy wings.
I miss your chubby chipmunk cheeks.
now they're rosy and defined.
You tell me all the guys want you and I should consider myself lucky to call you mine.
What happened to you?
You used to collect rocks. Arranged them by which made the best chalk.
I helped you test them on the sidewalk.
We drew each other because you never liked hop scotch.
And you got mad when I drew you as black.
"What are you doing? I don't look like that"
you handed me a white rock and took away the piece of charcoal we got  from your grill.
"You may not see me like this now"
you said.
"But one day you will."
So I tried,
I tried with all my might but it was hard to draw you white.
You didn't act like them and I think you knew
What happened to you?
Remember the summer your skin tanned darker then my mom's?
You said it was the first time you felt like you belonged.
What happened to you?
But you said you didn't care about ethnicity.
You were part Rock and part Roll.
You told me so every time you turned the **** on the radio that made my ear drums blast.
You hummed along, driving to fast.
What happened to that?
once you found a mushroom and you popped it  revealing powder inside.
wide eyed, you popped one on me.
"Fairy Dust" you said happily.
and popped one on yourself.
"Let's be like this forever.
Lets never get old.
I wish I'd have agreed
I wish I hadn't been so cold.
What happened to you?
Yesterday, I saw you with another man
I guess you do it cuz you can.
It was a shock because I thought we were doing alright.
But he had big bucks, a nice car, and his skin was white.
I got out of my car and stepped into sight.
You said something to your new guy and walked towards me.
I tried not to cry.
I knew you wouldn't hug me this time.
Or tell me it's alright.
instead you said.
"You and I've tried everything. I'ts time I give you back your ring.
I'm sorry I'm not good enough.
I'm sorry I don't feel the love.
I'm sorry we couldn't make this work.
I'm sorry our kissing lost it's fireworks.
I'm sorry my eyes lost there spark.
I'm sorry that my skin's not dark.
I'm sorry for how I've made you feel
And I'm sorry Fairy Dust isn't  real.
But I'm not sorry if i lead you on.
Because you knew one day that I'd be gone."

What happened to us?
we should have never grown up.

© copyrighted Nicole Ann Osborn

...

Death is like the full-stop to a beautiful Poem.

It becomes complete.

When you end a Poem, it doesn't cease to exist.
Instead it remains in your memory for as long as you are.

To be remembered.

To be celebrated.

Famous art works wouldn't have been famous in the first place had the artists not completed them.

A poem by a poet wouldn't have been appreciated had the poet not put a final full stop to it.

Beauty is not in the length, But in the end.

Life is a piece of Art.
Be the Art that is remembered for its beauty, not its existence.
...

-KD

You've rattled my cage
You'd better get out of the way
You've woken up the beast in me.

Sleeping soundly
for so many years,
the vultures
sat by
its side
figuring after that last breath
no other is going to be sighed.

I had paid the mason
made promises to the poet
they were working on its headstone
writing out its epitaph
all in very serious tones.

But
your vacuum eyes saw too close
your breath crept on to mine
your words spun fantasies
your hands shook me awake.

The beast's eyes popped open
this is where *** and love
love and ***
become confused
because
the beast
can't say
and
he can't see
and
doesn't remember what was written
on his epitaph.

"Don't feed or tease
or rattle the cage
better to let him sleep
that way,
that way
everything,
everything
will remain the same. "