a lovely girl
must be proper
but absurdity lies
in between her precious
smile and her breathtaking
poise and her scrumptious
hips and her plump
******* and her delightful
porcelain doll legs and arms

if you consider perfection worthy
of your eye then you may as well embrace
sorrowful nights in solitude.
at this point, you're enthralled by
mere fantasy, an abominable image
of the real life woman.

the loveliest of maidens resides in
every single girl
if you have not been taught that yet,
what are your flawless dreams but
simply dreams

You are a starchild, born from
the heavenly bodies and all
their celestial love affairs; You
twinkled among the stars and
owned the universe with them,
and yet you came down to
Earth and instead took over
my heart. And you say you
don't remember any of that as
we lay under the planets, but
when I look into your eyes I
see a galaxy. You shine with
a supernatural sort of radiance
that I can't believe to be earthly
and I am awful at science but
when you speak to me, astronomy
makes sense. The universe makes
sense. And you say that, just as
birds and clouds and humans
die, stars eventually die out too.
Our time is short but, darling, we
are infinite. We've become our own
universe. We threw away our mortal
selves when we realized this and
embraced this fleeting moment we
have together; stories never die and
neither will ours. And you say you
want to take me to your place,
among the asteroids and nightlights.
Yesterday I would have said, "No,
I'm afraid of the dark" but mapping
the unknowns of outer space with you,
surely we will become constellations.
And besides, I already am in heaven;
after all, that is what love is, isn't it?

i always craved something like a tragic backstory
a picturesque melancholy, shedding tears like fallen stars,
a beautiful face with a broken heart
only one person could put back together

but no one ever said
that when you broke, your eyes swelled and became blurred
and your heart shattered like glass on a hardwood floor
you don't feel beautiful at all
you don't even feel like a star
all you are is a badly written story with seemingly no ending

Your voice is a pale yellow, said the boy who
Etched colors into sounds. What he didn't say was that her
Loneliness dyed it that color, and that mosaics
Like her are much more that that; but she can't see herself as art.
Only a broken heart sewn together by shaking fingers,
Whittling away on a train to somewhere.

Losing herself to the roar of a motorcycle with wings she questions;
Are you going to destroy the world?
Understandably all he did was laugh in response, but the
Girl learned to laugh as well. And she
Held on a little tighter.