When she met him
for the very first time
a crown of daisies
laid perfectly on her head
and a smile was splayed across her lips
the radiant sun taken from the sky
and placed all around her
illuminating her silhouette
against the setting horizon
He looked at her with those piercing eyes
immediately creating flowers in her lungs
and growing
She tried to breathe
but was unable,
for his flawless self
took her breath away
replacing them with wild flowers
of beauty
and awestruck
The Christmas roses in the pit of her stomach
held graceful butterflies on their stems
fluttering about
and spreading their beautiful,
wonderfully delicate wings,
flying up into her entire being.
He made her this way,
a beautiful mess
because who wouldn’t
if they met you?
A perfect work of nature
created from the prettiest of flowers
a Primrose to behold,
and a Camelia to hold.

when does the night become us?
at what moment is the soul raised to the sky?
death, say some
and some ask why

the stars are dead,
and because we watch them miles and miles from where they rest
we are still fascinated by
these flames that hang in shapes and forms that make up our night sky

but what if our night sky is really not made up of bones?
if the stars don’t dwell on our dead bodies or take pride in a corpse,
I would in fact believe that
the sky does make up your soul

I do believe your heart's the moon
and constellations map out your veins
so when they ask if our souls look down from above,
I'll say I'll ask when I see you again

If you're looking up at the sky tonight
Know, that you can surely win your fight.
If you're staring at the vast night above
Know, that you can make it, that you are loved.
If you're walking in the dark, guided by stars
Know, your destination is never too far.
If you only see lies, searching for what is true,
Know that I'm just as clueless, looking up, with you.

How do you
Forgive yourself
For all the
Things that
You never
Became?