My words are bland compared to yours
And that scalds me
like fresh coffee on open skin
You're no cliché though
despite your skinny jeans
and catalogue fashion taste
I listen to your words like a
gentle tinkling of a piano tune
that erupts into a Bach symphony.
The heavy weight of your words
crush me. I fight for breath
and recently I've realised
I'm the only one not strong enough
to hold them up.
So at night I realise
the sky doesn't shine for me.
It shines for boys with a mind
way beyond his time,
For boys whose heart
leaks through the ink
of his pen like
an embedded vein.
Every night I realise my insignificance,
and the death of my poetry
whilst yours
beats strongly;
eternally.
So I'm sorry I write things because I only feel like it, okay?
But not everyone can explode
into a smattering
of stars
and
flames;
Like you do.
This was written in a personal notebook a few months prior, on March 22nd at around 3am. As of 2 months ago, I no longer feel as intensely about the topic. I rediscovered the poem today and wanted to post it here, enjoy!