There are so many beautiful things
But I chose you, my masterpiece.

Because why would I look for another star,
When you're already my moon.

Why would I find another universe,
If you're already my galaxy.

Why would I find another constellation,
If your name is the most eye-catching one.

Why would I find the biggest castle,
If you're in the paradise waiting for me.

Why would I leave,
If I'm home already.

Why would I write for someone as my subject,
When you're the heart of my poetry.

She's my Friday,
I am her Monday.

I never liked the sun
I hated being in the spotlight.  

I always liked the moon
I loved being in the dark.

but, ever since you came
into my life.
I always want to get seen by you.
to be noticed by you.

I don't think I can be
where you can't see me.

I never dreamed
of becoming a writer,
but I write.

I can't even say that
I am good at writing,
but still, I write.

I want to write
my heart out.
I want to exclaim my
thoughts, hoping that
someone out there
will understand me.

I fell for you
faster than
9.8 m/s^-2.

So I told you
I love you
faster than
3.0 x 10^8 m/s^-1.

And I mean it.
Always.

I am a direct metaphor.
I am simple compared to simile.
Buzzing noisily with onomatopoeia.
I am much harder than the irony.
Awfully repetitive like alliteration.
More hyper than the hyperbole.
Non-living but I live by personification.
I am litotes, full of negativity.
I am the antithesis of the antithesis.
Partly whole like synecdoche.
I am confusing and messy like paradox.
I use "handsome" as my name. Metonymy.

If you can't understand the pun,
it's because I am
the "*****" in the oxymoron.

Let me be your own artist,

I'll change your
scars into stars,
the tears in your
eyes into butterflies
and your sufferings
into colorful
lanterns,
let me paint you
with the colors I
have, let me write
you using my
blood, my love,
You'll be the best
art and poetry
and our love story
would be the most
beautiful tale that
will be written
in the history.