I once told you
that you are the only one who has ever inspired poetry in me.
Which isn't quite true,
but true enough.
You are the only one who inspires poetry out of love
Not pain.
You didn't shatter me like the one before,
who inspired so much darkness it filled my pages for years.
Instead, your freckles were the stars the guided me into hope.
Your eyes became emeralds that illuminated my poems with color.
You became the one.
The one who makes my voice stronger, my heart lighter, my me me-er
I am silly and light and infinite in your arms.
Even when my poetry is wrought with word *****,
the words are lyrical to my eyes and ears,
and if the poetry I write isn't meant to be for me,
then who is it meant for?