Label me a hurricane if it fits,
you think I trampled
on these hearts but they are nothing
but counterfeit;
there's no way to tame
a tempest you see,
you can't blame me for being a misfit.

If my tears could grow trees
with every drop
from the pain you caused,
the world
would flourish;
growing like the sadness
you impetuously bestowed.

I feel like I felt just
a little
too much
to convince myself that
this is nothing.

She is a blank slate
pleasant sight of purity,
always caught in mire artistic situations,
attracts nothing but cold, grimed,
treacherous hearts,
somehow, always ends up in tainted hands,
to painters who were not meant
to hold a brush.

And when all the stars
fell down that night,
she seized them
not with her hands
but with her eyes,
just like how
she caught my heart.

My knight does not need to be
in a shining armor,
nor blessed with prestige
or countless honor.

It only needs to be you,
someone who could wield
a sword, respectable enough
to be able to strike a heart of gold.

I am the girl
who falls in love easily
but never surely,
the kind who wears
her heart
on her sleeves
but never allows anyone
close enough
to touch it,
the type to openly say
her feelings
to the right person
and also to the wrong.  

I am the girl who
cries over the
simplest of things,
the kind who gets awed
by beautiful imperfections,
someone who drowns
in her thoughts
and finds tranquility
in the bottom.

I am the person
with a million souls
reborn,
a poet with a heart
full of songs.