i am the crisp air beneath your feet
i am the silence in the room
before two lips meet
sometimes i become the constellations
in the sky
looking down upon
those who are meek
because you see, the stars -
they are so fleeting
they never live
or cease to die
there's a whole other world out there -
and so am i

A shut in, I guess.
A dreamer, at best.
A star among a constellation at rest.
Hopeless? Pure?
Perfect? Obscure?
If only these eyes could reminisce
of tales told by the sky's first breath.

Guess what
You are not what you think your are
You may think your lips are ugly
I still want them on mine
You may think your hips are fat
I still want to put my hands on it
You may think your face is ugly
I still want to caress it
You may think your figure is unattractive
I still want to feel it pressed up against me
You may think you are stupid
I still want to talk to you
You may think your scars are ugly
I still want to hear every story
You may think your eyes are ugly
I still get lost in them
You may think your nose Is ugly
I still want to give it a rub with mine
You may think you are needy
I still want to hold you
You may think you are rude
I still prefer your company
You may dislike every part of yourself
I will still disagree with you
Now and until my breath completely runs out

You may hateyourself
But I still love you

We only truly start living
When we find something
Or someone
We would die for

Presently convinced my mind has gone amiss.
Where from me, betrayed, does my current filter lay?
Under the stars? Over the moon?
Locked away in complacent solitude?
I refuse to wonder, or dream, or wander.
I must do what I can with this joke of a hand.