I fell for your charm.
It started with the tattoos lining your arm,
each themed like the sea.
After beginning to see what we could be,
I told you that you were an ocean.
I always told you that you were deep,
and that being deep was okay,
that there was nothing wrong with emotions.
But I also told you I was terrible at swimming.
I started to try learning each day,
but I drowned in you,
and it seemed you did too.
I avoided decay
though you led me astray.
I wasn’t ready to learn,
and you, not ready to teach.
I needed your help but refused to beseech.
Just know I forgive you for bringing me such pain.
I’ve become stronger each day,
less selfish with personal gain.
And despite my knowing I will always feel worn,
if I feel too weak,
I’m never too far from shore.
Being alone is a struggle no more.

If you look to the stars on a late winter night,
you’ll find they shine brighter than normal.
Although summer’s warmer and
most would rather look at the stars then,
I often find myself stepping out on December nights
to stare into the depths above,
playing connect the dots.
The thing with the sky is,
no matter how far you try to look into it,
you’ll never figure it out.
I worry I’m the same.
I’ve been looking deep inside myself for years,
trying to find the meaning to which I provide life.
I’ve been trying to figure out why the dark spots are so vast
in comparison to the light.
It was only recently that I found
that despite the dark,
despite the ever-growing black,
there were gargantuan amounts of light,
only they were smaller.
What I’ve found
is it’s the little things.
And just like the sky,
there is so much dark,
and yet so much light.
So instead of looking for the light in the sky,
I should find the light in myself.
Maybe there’s a few constellations in me, too.