mr. loverman, ʀɪᴄᴋʏ ᴍᴏɴᴛɢᴏᴍᴇʀʏ, 02:14
the boy i paint
is a boy of many names;
a love that went
as soon as it came.
he morphs into shape,
takes on different faces;
a danger that feels safe,
each and every day.
i fall in love every so often;
he is my muse, pain is my art.
portrait of an angel fallen,
or a devil without a heart.
one, he was cruel,
another, he was kind.
stars and sky, moon and sun,
i simply yearn for peace of mind.
"you," i start my letters,
but i've loved so many of "you's".
among all those who have made my heart flutter,
the question is, "who?"
who is "you",
who are you?
you, oh you,
sweet yet wicked you --
"you" is my love, and whom i once loved.
YOU ARE READING
[14] - monday's child.
Poetry𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴. original poetry i wrote at fourteen.