What is an oxymoron:
It’s a contradiction in itself
That still exists anyway

An oxymoron
Would be thunder on
A clear day

Or an ocean
On fire
Or deafening
Silence

For a while, I wrote
People into being oxymorons
Girls with eyes that
Burned with wildfire
Yet hearts that were
Colder than the northern ice caps
(I thought that the colder
Your heart was
The better chance of being
Okay you had)

I wrote of people
Who had the gentlest hands
But the hardest eyes
I loved my story
Of the girl who was in the
Best relationship
But didn’t believe in love

I wanted to be
An oxymoron
Something hard to fathom
And figure out, something
Miraculous and curious

Then I realized
That I’ve always been an oxymoron
I’ve been told that my smiles
Were the brightest
But I’d look in the mirror and see
That my eyes were dead
And empty

I saw that I became an
Oxymoron of my own
The second that I became
A perfectly controlled catastrophe
So that my ragged edges
And awful mess
Wouldn’t touch  anyone else

I knew that I was an
Oxymoron the second that I
Started doing everything
Out of love
Yet I did not believe in
Love at all

I became an oxymoron
And I hate it
Because I want to break apart
And fall into a million pieces
But I need to hold myself
Together even if it’s agony

I am an oxymoron of sorts
And I do not know
If I am weaker
Or stronger for it