The floodgates have been opened,
Love runs out of every pore,
But, without a destination,
It distorts itself to grief
And slowly seeps into the floor.

- p. winter

I thought if I could swallow the stars
I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky
I tried one night    with fireflies
They burned my throat
Their legs striking at soft flesh
But my skin did not glow
No moon crawled from my eye sockets
I was left with corpses in my stomach
I soon learned I would only ever be
A cemetery

Every poem written
Is a reflection of who you are today

So tell me,
Do you like what you see?

You are made by the same hands that made the stars, the moon, and the earth. How dare I compare you to something only a man created - you are not just art, you are something more than that.