People tend to like the pretty people. Those with big eyes, cute nose, long hair and rosy cheeks. People with skinny stature, flat stomach or long legs. People who perfectly coincide with the society's standards of beauty. And she's not a pretty person. She can't make people turn their heads when she walks in the room and she can't make boys swoon with just one smile. She's the kind of person you would label as a friend but never as a lover if you're one of those who never truly sees people's worth and heck, she's a treasure, a precious gem. People are so ******* blind not to see how she's a blessing into this world. She's loving and kind and her heart is made of gold and yet she goes around offering it to strangers she meet at cheap coffee shops downtown. When she smiles, her eyes form crescent moon shapes that the night sky envies her. When she speaks, the mountains roar and the ground shakes in fear for her thoughts echo louder than any silence has. And she may not be pretty to other people, but God, she's ethereal to me.

ㅡ *him when he was asked to describe the person he loves

I heard your voice.
It must have been Heaven.
The silvery, ethereal sound of your laughter..
Yes, it was Heaven.

The exchange was so effortless.
You spoke, I spoke.
You laughed, I laughed.
Yes, it was Heaven.

However, in the ease of conversation,
There were so many things I wanted to say.
Instead, I remained reserved.
I feared the reaction I would receive.

I've been fixated on you.
Drawn in by your deep green eyes,
Bright wide smile, and perfectly waving brunette hair.
I've been captivated by your overall beauty.

Consider this an open letter from an open heart,
Spewing out the words I could not bring forth.
There has been no other prospect to fill me with the elation that you bring.

The sequel to "Dainty"**

It was a lie when
I let my body feel static,
and I never uttered a word
you're too quick to judge me
as dramatic,

It's no use at all
to try to prove my ethereal case,
because my case to you
is another flower you never
bothered to water in a
pristine glass vase,

It was a lie when
I let my mind feel static,
but I never screamed;
you'd deem my reaction
s e m i -a u t o m a t i c,
like I'd bring this on myself;
Please dear,
before you assume
for Heaven's sake,
go to Hell.

She was ethereal.
She would walk her way back home under the moonlight in the freezing winter nights. She was made out of pain and nostalgia. Not even sweet death could compare to her pale face, always covered by her tangled dark hair. She used to lie in bed wishing to be somewhere as cold as she felt, dreaming of wreck and defeasence of everything she had ever known. If she wasn't reading stories, she would make them up in her damaged head. If the story wasn't enough, she would let her demons eat the last nerves that somehow had made it through.
She felt alone yet constantly watched over. She was hoping for someone to stay around. She was hoping to be someone else's muse. She wanted them to ache, burn inside, scream at the top of their lungs just like she did. She wanted to be the reason. But deep inside she knew nobody would turn back to her.
She thought she was out of place, out of this world, made of outer space. But she was not. She was just a girl. She bled, needed and loved. She thought her tragically beautiful soul was a waste.
She's been missing for years now.
Sometimes, when everything comes down all at once and the weight of the world gets too hard to hold up, I still can feel her, after all this time. Sometimes I think I can see her wandering, floating around like the daydream she was.
The thought of her leaving forever stabs my chest every night.
And I can't sleep.
Just like she did before.
She's my muse but she never knew.

He was the darkest of dark nights.
He was the view through a hospital room's window, right through the long wild waving grass. He was the feeling of freedom I could never reach.
He would appear when I needed it the most, as unexpectedly as the breeze hits a field at summer nights.
He was the sound of the saddest piano notes at the end of a heartbreaking song.
He was always there, he was always watching.
He would look back at me with his green eyes wide open and his mouth shut. He knew all the answers, but he wouldn't say a word. Words were never needed.
Walking heartbroken down the dark streets last night, I looked up from the ground, where the town disappeared, fading into the wild lands, covered by the midnight skies, slightly touched by the moonlight. I felt him.
Looking right into my ripped soul and deepest broken hopes, with the same old expression across his face. He faded in the winter winds.

I thought I've seen the light, all of us assiduously seek,
though in a flash,for only an ethereal moment perhaps.
I yearned to catch that gleam in my wavering words,
so that I can keep it in your lovely eyes  where it belongs,
wasn't I right, in thinking so, only your eyes can tell me now.
I eagerly peer in to those dark eyes when you read my verse,
the magic happens ,my being beats in unison with that light, dissolves

Waves of Ephemeral heights
       Lay in Ethereal mights
Floating
       And
    Clothing
The depths of the Night

Waves of hope and bliss
        Through the Moon's eyes
Array
         The fearful Night
In a glorious box
             Encased in Glory

Ovi Odiete©

i called Jesus today to ask where He put my sweater
that was laying on the edge
of the brown armchair in the living room
but He hasn't called me back yet.

i'd like to think that maybe His phone died,
but i know He's ignoring me
because the phone rings twice
and then goes straight to voicemail.

i wonder if it's because i came home late last night
smelling like ash and whiskey.
He says He can taste how mixed up I am,
and calls me bitter
because i won't let Him kiss me on the mouth.

But i don't want him to know
that Sazerac tastes sweeter than His sermons,
even though it burns like hell.

He says i need to stop drinking, but He doesn't understand.
i need that fire in my throat. i need to be warm.
And He took my only sweater.