i am not the night sky
although we are similar in the fact that i am not always clear and i don't always look as pretty in pictures
this is for one simple reason
i am human
and i cannot be compared to an object
even as complex as the sky, i am by far more complex than it could ever be
i feel things and i think through things
i try new things and sometimes i change how i look
i add variety in my life and nothing can change that fact
so to compare a human, like myself, is so abnormal
because how could something so simple ever compare to the vastness that a human holds
it shouldn't be spoken of or let alone be thought of
but it is because we as a species are constantly trying to find ourselves in things
whether they be other humans or something as simple as the night sky
we always wish to see bits of ourselves and feel a connection with
this bit of information should shine light on a fact
we should be able to find security within ourselves
but it is rather difficult when society and other people try to push the idea that we will see ourselves in something
because that is not always the case
and to try to make ourselves seem so simple is so absolutely absurd
because what makes us human is our expansive ability to be unique
to be incomparable is what it means to be human

You seem to me like a cold winter’s day,
Sparkling beauty, yet to cold to fathom.
Your beauty too often leading astray;
People forget that you are a phantom.
Confusing and blinding all at one time,
You are a creature I long to realize.
Your complex nature something I can't mime,
I cannot seem to forget your cold eyes;
With you I am elated and destroyed.
 If I am a scarf enveloping you,
 You unravel me, I am paranoid.
When I am without you my world is so blue.
If we are a flame, you are the lighter;
A puzzle I will never decipher.

I am naïve skeptic
I am a bohemian capitalist
I am a sad corporatist
I am a misogynistic feminist
I am a misanthropic misandry
I am a traditional postmodernist
and a conservative liberal
I belong to someone, but mostly to myself
I am not yours, yet I am not mine either.
I am everything and I am nothing.

I am tender and cold,
I am sour and soft.
Darker than night,
Brighter than day.
Loving and spiteful
Caring and callous.

I am a poet concealed in prose
I am a writer covered in playwright
I am here, but I am also there.
I am an old novelty
and a new discovery.
I am a bit of van Gogh’s ear.

The boy flew,
He soared higher than the clouds as the winds blew,
He smiled, He laughed,
The boy was free.

Then the danger struck,
And the boy’s wings it took,
He fell to Earth,
His innocently arrogant youth had passed.

He marched with the others who were lost,
It took him too long to know what this would cost,
The boy, now man, grew sad,
It was too late to climb to the heights of his youth.

The man did as he was told,
An evil grip on this world then properly took hold,
While everyone was awake with their eyes closed,
Pain, suffering and war took over our Earth.

As our world began to die,
With many tears he started to cry,
He was not who he wanted to be,
But this perfect self was impossible to see.

The man grew tired of the complexity of a simple life,
He began to think that it was time to take up his knife,
As he did what he thought was right he saw a dark tunnel,
It was too late to stop now.

What he saw It was not pretty,
There was no light at the end, no rhyme or rhythm,
But he saw something that made him smile with glee,
No Earth, no existence to need to pretend to be happy.