Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
He doesn't want me
He wants her
Needs her
Aches for her
But she doesn't want him
It tears him apart
Hurts him so much
I hate her
but she's my best friend
There's no difference
She's me
But cooler
She is everything I am
And more
So much more
But I love him
And she doesn't
If I, your humble poet,
could simplify my star
my muse
my flower's beauty into words
then you, dear reader,
would have paragraphs upon paragraphs to read
for, if it was possible,
I would take the time, detailing
The color, length of her golden-bronze hair,
Soft threads spun from only the finest material.
I would speak of the depth and clarity
of her eyes,
crystalline clear as sapphire.
I would tell of her smooth, milky skin,
dotted lightly and delicately with the most perfect freckles.
Her nose, upturned ever so slightly,
to give her a high-society look.
The crinkles around her eyes
when she lends me a genuine smile.
The lines on her palms
finally leading me home.
But since it all is impossible,
my words barely qualifying as the tip of the iceberg,
I will simply sit
And admire
my flower.
My muse.
My Star.

— The End —