I saw your face upturned at the darkened sky,
And as you reached for the moon,
Kissing her softly,
The stars glittered with bitterness.

I admired you, the boy that the moon loved.
I saw your lips dance across the night,
Watched you pull at the blanket of the sky,
And I understood the jealousness of the stars.

Because even if your eyes were full of starlight,
Your lips still bore her moonbeams.

They'll sew your lips shut in pretty little stitches
To keep your screams quiet,
Because beauty is nothing less than immeasurable pain.
I hear you'll be grateful though;
Your face will be lovely
And because of your tightly bound lips,
No one can smell the way your insides will rot.

Some might say that poetry is a beauty
An artistic masterpiece
Crafted by a person with magic
Flowing from their fingertips
Others might say that poetry is the sky
Dark at times
But always beautiful with something new each day
And each cloud having its own story to tell.
To me, poetry is my soul.
It's the journal
Of my journey
Called life
It's my outlet
My way of expressing words
Onto paper
Rather than from my mouth
In the most elegant and graceful
Way possible.
I am not a poet.
I am poetry.

What do I have to do
To always be with you
Without having to be apart
I will do anything
To be with you

Roses are red
Violets are blue
They are beautiful but
Nothing compares to you

Moo that's you.

I want to love you
Until it breaks me
And until it hurts me.

I want to love you
And I don't mind
As long as it is you.

I want to love you
Forever, darling.

n.e