You were sweet, yes. I won’t be the poet who compares you to honey for it, but yes. You were honey.
But not for your sweetness; honey–
Not in spite of your acid, but because of it.

You are the gods painted
in our imperfect, mortal image.

In your mortality, in your burning
In your acidic, golden eye.

Honey.



-

Love is nothing like what is shown on-screen;
Bouquets lavish, flowers never-dying
Every conflict resolved as if foreseen
Hearts so warm, characters end up singing.
The love that's beyond cameras and lights
Is love embellished with imperfections -
Behind their flowery, script-induced lines
Lies no such true feelings and emotions;
Though love may not be sunny days in June
But the darkness in the sky at winter,
Having real intent behind "I love you"s
Are lines more worthy to be delivered.
Love is nothing like what is shown on-screen;
But more deserving of happy endings.

An Ode to My Crooked Teeth:

To the pearly stones knocking about
Dancing around each other
Bumping shoulders
Standing sideways

And a little lopsided

To the relentless little bones
That grind senselessly with nerves
That rarely ever chew
Without aches and pains

Braces tried to restrain you once
To make you straight
To match images perfected by society

But my stubborn smile
Won’t change for anyone

As a girl
I have my own version
of a Prince Charming
Described as perfect;
Tall, handsome, flawless man

Yet as I got older
I opened my eyes to reality
And I saw him
Never like the perfect
Prince Charming
A little girl would dreamed of

He was flawed
in a beautiful way
And somehow broken
because of life

Just like that,
I like him the way he is
And who he is

The little girl I once before
would judge me now
She was naive and ignorant
But now she knows:

To love someone
One is required to look
passed the imperfections
And must understand
them wholly
To truly be able to love them.

Imperfection is everything.
Nothing is immaculate,
nothing is fail-safe,
some fool is always dumber
than you are smart,
so nothing is fool-proof.

In some cases,
you are finding the drop of mud
on the silvery crystalline ocean.
That is good enough,
don't hurt yourself
by yearning for more.

They say I'm perfect.
They say they wish they were me.
I scoff in their face.

They don't know my life.
They haven't traversed my mind
or searched through my thoughts.

They know nothing of
what it is like to be me.
They don't get to say

That I am perfect
Any more than I can say
I know their life story.

not the man you used to be
and we do not know why
everything is suffocating
strangled by the lies

in the end it all felt wrong
like it was born to burn
scarring all your little ones with
nothing left to learn

-
by Aleksander Mielnikow | Alek the Poet

If the bar is low,
maybe I won't disappoint
you with my failures...