I wish I was the kind of person

That could write as beautifully

As the midnight sky

Or your eyes

Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write

Till my pen runs out

Or my arm gets tired

Or I run out of paper

And start to write in books
I’ve read

Too many times

Then there are days when,

my mind is full

But there are no ideas.

No motivation

Just loud voices,

A mess of thoughts

Most of them aren’t even my own

(Maybe I shouldn’t say that

Someone might think I’m crazy)

Just because someone’s mind is

Thought ridden

Doesn’t mean they will turn it

Into art

I think if they did

Someone might get hurt

Writing

It’s dangerous

Not just to an author

But also to everyone else
around them

I bit open a lie and it tasted like you.

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.

Stop trying to remember his scent, he smelled like summer and reminds you of the time he made you laugh so hard, you snorted out milk on that dead, hazy day.

2. Don't waste your day trying to decipher what colour his eyes were, it'll only remind you of the galaxies and constellations that you once saw in his eyes

3. Stop trying to retrace the shape of his mouth in the middle of the night, you'll choke on your tongue trying to taste the mint he devoured seconds before pulling you in for a kiss

4. Stop reliving the times you clasped hands together, the glass plate will fall off your trembling hands.

5. Burn this list, admit that the galaxies and constellations shining in his eyes were wilted, the one in yours are bursting with fire. Remember on the dead, hazy day his laugh sounded like nails running down a chalkboard. Remember when you kissed, the weeds growing from his mouth entangled the roses blooming in yours.

Realize that one day, another boy is going to come and plant daisies where he left behind thorns.