100m;
Flowing down the street like a 2.30am moonlit beam
on still waters, I mistook her for the sky.
The way the dress caressed her body
like the clouds that hold the moon

50m;
a falling meteor
a dawning sun in the red radiance of her lips
as its rose blush rushing across her cheeks

1m;
Everything.
A supernova girl engulfing its solar system - its light to be seen a thousand years later in another galaxy before continuing on past, universe to universe, till the end of time or the edge of existence (whichever comes first)

The edge of existence;
A cool breeze
A burn on my retina
The sky was gone

Roses are red
Violets are blue
This is as cliché
As it's possible too.

Wherever you were
Born and bred
Your clichéness will be
Ripped to shreds

Long story short
It's been said before
It's not a *one in a million chance
That when it rains, it pours

Or practice makes perfect
It's said all the time
I'm sick and tired of these clichés
They're really difficult to rhyme

Only time will tell
So be careful of what you're reading
'Cause everything happens for a reason
And looks can be deceiving

So if I think outside the box
And all dreams can come true
Then the use of a cliché
Would be enough to **** you

But if you're lucky enough
To have *played your cards right
This could be the first day
Of the rest of your life

Black hair black glasses black jeans red shoes
Walnut skin brown eyes gentle heart

Walking around or sitting in a chair
You're always perfect   I'm  always there

You may not notice the other guys but I do
I see the way you look at me I see the way they look at you

Hair- flowing in the wind soft sound of small feet
I stand and realize what I'm doing
I shouldn't do this. No one should

We'll laugh long. We'll laugh hard. Like two fireflies in a jar.

I'm not perfect that's quite clear. What's not clear is our future if we last to see it I need to make it through and I need you

Everyone aims for the same thing.
They just have a different things to do that with.
Whether it be music, sport, writing or whatever else.
We all have something, physically or not.
Most choose not to use the things they are have.
They try to use what others have.
Take what makes them unique and for most it leads to both having less.
Because although inspiration is good.
Taking that thing one person has and spreading it umong many.
Makes their thing have less value than everyone else's.
Making their thing cliché.
But does them doing their own thing makes them the original cliché? Or just a cliché because they have nothing original to them? Because everyone else took it.

Paint by number
your colors
just like everyone else.
But do not color
outside the lines.
There's no place for
extraordinary.

Shove the clay
of yourself
into a mold that
doesn't fit.
But do not dare look
for another one.
There's no place for
individuality.

Write out the story
of your cliché life
just like all the others.
But do not make
any revisions.
There's no room for
originality.

I’m not a poet
But you smell like
Those overused blue violets
And red roses

I first met you in sophomore year gym class
We were robbed of a formal introduction but yet I still remember you
It is almost like my heart was telling my brain to hold onto your name a little longer- that I was not getting rid of you anytime soon
I am thankful for that

(We finally had a formal introduction at the beach, I remember the exact picnic table)

50 minute obligatory car rides turned into spontaneous joy rides- you surprising me at my house, just to drive around
We talked about our teachers and classmates, our heart break and happiness

Now, on the brink of adulthood I wish you'd just trust fate the way she has trusted us
******* none of this was accidental
We both have been so broken- we both are so cautious but still let's
take the risk
I've latched onto you telling me that you can't wait to drive a mini van- to be a dad
Because deep down, I want that future with you

I can still hear you,
Singing to me softly,
Your eyes on me only,
Whispering "do you still love me?"
I can still feel you,
Cradeling my bones,
Your arms around me,
It still feels like home.
I still see you,
In every boy I kiss,
And every crack
On the sidewalk
I stay up late,
I grow weak,
I can't stop these feelings,
I can't stop you.
You flood my mind,
My brain is New Orleans,
And you're my Katrina,
And my levees break every time.
I know I can never have you again,
But at least I can miss you.
My body aches from
Aging too early
Because living without you
Is like adding decades to my heart,
And no fountain of youth
Can quench my thirst
You're my phantom limb,
Ive lost you, but I feel you
With every move
Every step
Every time.