recently
I got a little older,
learned a lesson or two,
like how loving someone
could never be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
like how nothing
would ever be as poetic
as I wanted it to.
how can I accept
that the miracle of love
isn’t really a miracle at all?
how can I wrap myself
in someone’s arms
when I know
that there isn’t any sort
of poetic loving involved?
how do I unlearn
the romantic thoughts
that taught me
about the fireworks,
the butterflies,
and the fluttering fingers
in the dark.
and accept that
maybe kissing
won’t be as spiritual as I thought.
maybe it’s really just a mouth on mine.
how do I unlearn my innocent heart
who lulled me into a false sense of hope
for a lover who would call
the way my body moves
art.
a lover who would feel
the poetry
in every word
I spoke in the dark.

and YOU watched

me as i looked

so small

standing

under

the twinkling night

sky

catching shooting

stars on my

toungue,

wishing

that this

night

would

go on

forever

like the endless diamond

sky

that YOU

kissed

me under,

the moonlight

casting a faint

glow

on YOUR breathtaking

face

as YOU

promised

to love me

forever,

the same

moonlight

illuminating

a trail of

tears

sliding

down my

cheeks

as YOU

break

that promise,

break

my heart.

YOU

told me

YOU

would give me

a star

to wear

on my left

finger,

and that

i had a

smile brighter

and more beautiful

than

saturn's rings,

and now i

watch

YOU walk away,

leaving me

alone

under

our moon.

YOU told me

i was YOUR

everything,

and now

i am

merely

another star

in YOUR

ever expanding

galaxy.