"Write a poem for us to understand".

Why would I?
My poem's my heart and my ribs,
The galaxy scarf that's been strangling me for years;
My lover and companion,
My cup of tea that I enjoy in while hating it.

I enjoy my smooth ride in my imagination,
Where I do things I want to do here,
But which my mind itself does not let me do.
Here.

It's my sacred temple and the saviour who the temple is for.

Why do you have a need to understand it?
I'm the one jealously holding it,
Yet trembling to explain it.

My daily dose of galaxy.

My daily dose of hedonism.

Daily dose of suffocating.

Every day, closer to death, the closest to madness.

Welcome to the cup of my universe.
Enjoy it and hate it.

They’re all happy.

I wear pearls and over use glitter and I don't know a thing about makeup
My face tells you how I feel about you way before my mouth gets the chance to do so
I drink coffee exclusively at 5 in the afternoon, and by the time I am done with it it's a lot more like a cup of cream and sugar than coffee
My heart is big and full of love, but also full of rage and anger for the things I cannot control
I am five feet tall, but my attitude and my drive makes me feel like a giant
My drinking habits could make a grown man cringe and I could out-drink you in any competition
I say hello to every animal I see on the streets and I go so far as to try to pet them all even though they want nothing to do with me
My eyes and my hair are so dark that they are almost pitch black, but my mother swears I was born with baby blue eyes
I do not have any idea how to control my laughter in uncomfortable situations and I have no filter around small children
My demeanor gets sad and lonely every time it storms, and it's not like I was in some terrible rain innitiated accident, I just get scared sometimes
I stare at myself in every mirror I pass and my mother used to tell me I was such a narcissist
My love for everyone I have ever loved has never diminished or passed and somehow that makes me feel vulnerable and weak
I grew up in a city full of crime and gun shots and children with next to no education and I flourished despite that all
My mind knows how to organize words and sentences into exquisite works of art, but do not ask me how to do PEMDAS and do not ask me about photosynthesis
I know the lyrics to almost every song I have ever heard in my entire life and I can sing you any lullaby that makes you fall asleep
So, in conclusion my "About Me" is long and awkward and damaged and perfect in some kind of absurd and silly way

I thought he was perfect.
He's got the cutest smile, a handsome face; yet not too hot so other girls would steal him.
Smart, aces the exams without studying, too.

Clever, cute, loyal to death and loves me, too.
What more could I possibly ever wish for?

The thin layer of sweat covers his body, glittering in the last dusk's breath.
Sparkles of silver are in his eyes, as if God himself got down on Earth to pour galaxies in his wooden eyes, which are prospecting me.

So, what's the missing puzzle?
You love him, don't you?

Then look at you.

Gazing at the reflection in the mirror, quietly standing.
I look at the dark circles under my eyes which are expanding, following my nose line by the parallel.

Then I look at my nose which I've always hated; the uneven line, like the messy sea in sky's rage.

Then I look at myself.

And I rage, too.

So where's the missing puzzle?
Why does he care?
Why do I?
Ah, youth - well you wore me thin,
And, by the skin of I teeth I'd almost felt something.

So there's the missing puzzle.
Me.

I even showed him how I look without makeup. I showed him my madness and my crazyness which would shoo any man away.
Why's he here?

I'm not perfect like him.
And I can't stand, oh, I can't stand the pressure.
I look at my curvy body and stretch marks, lining my legs and showing me my fight with life I'd quit from for another reason.

Why me?

And now,
The mirror's smudged with blood
And I'm sitting on a lonely chair,
A lonely soul, in a lonely room,
With a lonely mind in this lonely world.

I don't know love no more.
How could I?
I take out the mirror bits from out of my fist, silently observing.

Then I look at me.

The face of a disappointed warrior with a long past of fighting her own life,
And it might seem dramatic to you,
But I've had a lot of things on my mind
Which you wouldn't find on the normal silver plate.

I'm not perfect, nor I plan to be.
I see through the lies caused by the love veil, and I choosed to rip it off, but it's not falling down.

And I'm afraid,
I'm afraid if I stay;
When will he
Take it
Off?