i want to whisper in your ear,
so close that my warm breathe makes you tingle.
i will whisper all my sweet nothings to you,
those will melt right in your mouth.
all my poetry is based upon you,
you are sole star in my galaxy.
who am i without the love i share?
who am i without the love so rare?
all alone i crash and rash all over the place
yet it is your gaze that makes my heart race.
yet again this is all a wish.
a wish won't come true.
so i find pleasure in wishing too.

i always loved rap, drill, and trap more than any music genre out there
like lil peep, central cee, and travis scott.
then one day, you ranted about how much you loved maroon 5
and ever since that day, it was your favorite song from them, “she will be loved” that i’ve been listening to until my earphones wear out.

i was never a big fan of donuts, especially the chocolate flavor.
it was always too sweet for my liking, that’s all.
until i saw you eat a chocolate donut, the only flavor of donuts you like.
from that day on, i always got myself a chocolate donut every time i craved something sweet.

art was something i absolutely ****** at.
i tried and tried but i always ended up failing miserably.
that was until i saw you show off your drawings, ones of your favorite characters.
since then, i’ve been practicing and practicing until i could finally draw and paint you, my favorite piece of art.

i never really saw a reason to be happy in my life;
it was always the same cycle of betrayal, broken trust, and so on.
but then i saw you dancing happily in the rain as you were listening to all your favorite songs
and starting then, i finally found a reason for me to love life:
seeing your happiness— and just you, entirely.

"Who should defend the moon if not the poets?"
Set the fires, let them burn.
The poets are watching,
Hold their gaze, stare them down.

Let them watch you, I vouch on their behalf, they will fall in love.
See how they defend all that their eyes linger upon.
You get to leave, but being forgotten is not your choice.

I wonder if like witches, the poets too were shunned.
Unanimously void of acceptance,
they hear battle cries where conversations are held.

The moon, her shadows. The earth her hollows
The poets go on to fight for all that they love,
I wonder how they reached this particular sparse,
A stretch of once lush but now fading grass.
A sad willow fueled by a writer's insatiable hunger.
Its roots reach deep, and its memories never fade.
The tree sags and groans, and empty nooses swing from where once dead weight hung.

I wonder if invisibility convinced the poets, that to love is to see and
To see is to show. So showmanship became a pre-requisite of their love.
But laced with it is fierce protectiveness of where they belong.
Is that why they're quick to defend another's flaws?
Baring their pens and flexing their claws.
Finding a million reasons to adorn the ones long gone?
They keep draping their dead muses with literary scarves.
In jewels, they bend over backwards to give but never grasp.

Always an Angel, Never a god.
Always the Artist never the art.

I defend the poets, for I was cursed with a poet's heart.
We wear our scars like medals from wars and
We will love till we crumble,
I wish the poets a soft love.
The love that they write and read about.

I wish the poets, a soft love,