Poor girl, thinking that perfection was the standard.
She looked to the moon and thought it was achievable,
The powdered white cheeks and tide-changing demeanor
That swept up the poorest of souls,
Distilling the lost into destined people.
So she tried.
She tried, striving and striding forward,
Trying to capture the flickers of the sun
In dark, dewy hands that smelled like fresh rain.
But the beams kept slipping through her fingers,
Bubbling laughter ringing in her ears as they left,
Leaving her in shadow.
So she cried.
Comets carved lines along her cheekbone,
Etching a searing scar along the pitch-black canvas
That caused her blood to trail down
Like falling stars.
She cried tears of white and silver and gold,
The pieces of her crystal heart glowing
As they mixed with the molten liquid of her blood,
Brimming with broken dreams as they formed
Tears of fire. Drops of pure desire.
She still walks with stained cheeks,
Nothing but a wandering shadow, dark and despairing.
She still can't find nor see the star hidden under her ribs,
Beating and pulsing with potential and a longing to protect,
So she wanders aimlessly, making sure no one knows
That she cried stars.
YOU ARE READING
Rose, Prose, Poetry
PoetryExploring topics of love, limerence, grief, and everything in between, this is a collection of 100 poems written over a year. The works both reflect inner emotions and outward connections, attempting to capture the interconnected nature of the worl...
