i promise you will never be as beautiful

as you are in the eyes of a poet.


did you ever think

that the curve of your lips

would be worth writing about?


oh god,

that crooked smile

has my pen bleeding ink

faster than i can keep up


did you know that

i’d find inspiration from

the scars on your hands?


tell me,

did you know that

i would write about the way

the light fell on your face that night,

the hair dangling in your face,

your eyes looking more beautiful than

the stars above us?


does it bother you to know

that all of our secrets

make their way

onto paper?


or does it comfort you

knowing that

i can’t forget?


what does it do to you?

knowing that i compare your words

to flowers growing in the bottom of my soul,

the weeds entangling around my heart…


does it bother you that

i’ve turned you into a poem

over and over again?


or does it do nothing at all?

please tell me.