in this world, all the things i see are made of poems.
each living thing, from the most powerful of felines to the tiniest of insects, has a story that i feel compelled to tell.
more than anything else, the people around me are poetry.
the people around me are souls that i see in everything.
a pair of eyes that remind me of the sky.
a laugh that sounds like a campfire.
a smile that looks like a field of wildflowers and thorns, scraping my shins and knees.
the devotion i feel towards every person i see is overwhelming.
my insides feel like honey; amber, thick, sweet.
when i see them,
not their outsides,
but the inside,
i find myself melting down
into something intangible
and overwhelmed,
sticky
with compassion
and love.
and sometimes,
there is a person.
sometimes,
there is a person
within whom
i see something.
something.
and this person,
whoever they may be,
whatever the other people
who have honeyed me
may say,
becomes someone
that captivates me.
my words
fail,
i become tongue-tied
and tied down.
and yet,
since the boy
with the smile made of sunshine
and the blinding yellow soul,
my captivity
has never lasted
as long.
a few months
of bliss
and longing
are all
my soul
can afford
before the fear,
cold and unforgiving,
hardens
my molten amber
back
into stone
until the next
makes me melt
again.
i wish for a day
where the fear
doesn’t come
and i can love
with none;
none.
discomfort,
dissent,
distress.
instead,
someday,
live­ a life
with the warmth
in my stomach
kept moving inside,
fueled
by the fire
within someone’s eyes.
i am made
of ice.
i pray for one
made of fire
to let me out
of my keep.