One beautiful night
We lay down under the moonlight.
We watch the sky and the stars.
It was a dream come true.
The whisper you blew at me is still ringing in my ears. Since then, I haven't been able to hear anything else.
The prettiest gift you ever gave me was a garland made of your smile pearls.
Nothing ever compares to it.
Every single word you said spun a web around my heart, trapping me to your whims. I'm like a spider trapped in its own web.
In my life's journey, I met others who, like me, had lost their way.
When your sugar is low, don't write poetry.
It will not have a sweet flavour.
With one flirty smile, several lives came to a halt in their tracks.
At least that's what they tell me.
Which is funny.
Because all I see.
Is society showing us how we should be.
That no matter the mind.
No matter the smile.
No matter the respect.
If you are anything more than a size two.
You might as well just disappear.
That no matter the chivalry.
No matter the drive.
No matter the love.
Anything less than six figures.
You will never be successful.
It's sad really.
To be controlled by a number.
To feel accepted by a "like".
To feel relevant by a tweet.
Just wanting to matter.
Which I believe, is nothing short of torture.
Torture in the most sadistic way.
Because the society you want to appeal to.
Wouldn't care enough to save you from drowning in the shallow end.
Let alone have the common courtesy.
To tell you that all you have to do is stand up.
That's the irony of it all.
The classic line of they want to see you doing better.
As long as you aren't doing better than them.
That's the best way to describe it.
The minute you try & be different.
That's either the day society forces you to comply to the norm.
Or you are copied to the point where you aren't even an original anymore.
I'd love to give society a big "*******"
But I'm ashamed to say I'm just another percentage.
Feeding the hype by snapping, re-tweeting, & loving things that really don't matter to my well being.
I know I can't destroy it.
Hell, we probably couldn't destroy it together.
But we could weaken it.
By being flawed to the best of our abilities.
While rejoicing in every flaw.
Because being imperfect is the most beautiful thing you can be in this world.
I wish I could tell you it doesn’t hurt.
That this pain is a two on the doctor discomfort scale.
But I doubt I’ll ever recover.
Even after I find the strength to get better.
Because loving you.
Was by far the greatest thing I’ve ever done.
She keeps songs
locked away in boxes
She will take them out
to help her remember
the feeling of
a different time,
a different person
by her side.
She likes the one
that makes her
to see the lights.
She smiles at
the one that
makes her stand
up on tiptoes,
the one that
helps her forget
she doesn’t know
what to do
with her hands.
will carry her.
Like it did
the times when
like a heart.
When instruments’ strings