Don't tell me I'm beautiful,
because I've heard that a thousand times
and I bet you've said that to other girls before me;
Like an old shoe, tainted with mud,
or worn-out clothes.
A word that simply scratches the surface,
but barely reaching the inside.
It hangs in the room like dust,
so used and common,
being thrown as if it's the ultimate prize.
As if it just slips out of your tongue,
a word you've always used.
Tell me I'm breathtaking,
as if you hold your breath whenever we're not together
waiting to taste the air again the moment you laid your eyes on me.
Tell me that even the thunderstorms clear out when I'm around you,
or maybe that you feel the sun shines brighter.
Say that I am intelligent,
that you always feel at awe when I speak
because it seems as if the angels were the one
who spoke the words.
Tell me that my voice is sweeter than honey,
and that my laugh is contagious even to strangers.
Because these are the things that I am dying to hear,
metaphors that are waiting to be used.
This word has been splattered on me like a paint,
and I cannot be a masterpiece if it's simply white.
So paint me with words and metaphors that you haven't used
and make a galaxy out of me,
because surely everyone is a masterpiece simply hiding beneath the white paint.
(still editing)