I
have
written
one
hundred
twenty-
seven
poems
about
you.
Please
­let
me
go.

Do you?
Do you ever think about how vast everything is?
And how tiny and minuscule you are to the rest of the world?

Do you ever think about how big you are compared to the universe, or the sky, or the ocean, even your own little town? 

Do you? 

Do you ever wonder how many stars there are compared to you?
Or how many of you would it take to wrap around the whole earth
Because that’s just the kind of thinker that you are, and you know it’s ridiculous but you can’t help but wonder just how many, and wonder how on earth you could make it work. 

Do not be ashamed of thinking you are so small and minuscule,

But also do not be misguided by thinking that;

Because even if you are small in comparison to the universe, and the sky, and the ocean, and your small town.

There is someone out there that thinks you are all the rain that falls from the sky, and that your existence is like the radiance of a sunset.

Of course no one thinks that you are the entire universe, but the universe is to vast. 

Too unreachable, too unattainable.
However small you may be,
They think you are all the enjoyment in life, and to them, that makes you the whole galaxy.

I have recently come into contact with one of the smartest people I've had the honor to come in contact with.
We share an enjoyment together in writing out of the box, and both enjoy the fact that our poetry cannot be put into check mark boxes like most other writers can be.
We do not write between the lines, or on the lines.
Our stories come from the margins of our school papers when the teacher is going on and on and on about how great all of these so, so writers are.
They are all writing about the same thing.
These writers are so focused on fitting criteria, that they forgot everything about why they started writing in the first place.
To let something be known.
Writers do not pick conventional topics; the thing people find fascinating about writers is that they have the ability to take any situation, any thought or idea and turn it into something extravagant.
Or maybe not so extravagant.
Writers are a hit-and-miss game.
But everything that we write starts with a purpose, and ends.
Or starts without any means at all, and ends somewhere twenty miles down the road, wandering down the side streets thinking about past experiences.
Writers are all over the place.
We do not always have a purpose for what we put on paper, and more than half of what we think about never makes it onto paper.
But that's what makes it all enjoyable.

Get away from me,
My evil twin is just around the corner.
You see,
She's very protective.
You need to leave,
She is not going to be merciful.
You see,
She wasn't born this defective.
A boy she thought was man
Told her she had a pretty face,
And she lost her footing on this cliff,
Trying to kiss the space bellow his eye and above his cheek.