indie » styles

some people are poetry. they cannot be described by useless adjectives. the way they make people feel is breathtaking and unexplainable. poetry is beautiful; a rare gift that doesn't even seem real. almost as if it was written by the whisper of a breeze.

he was poetic. the way he made her feel was something the greatest writer of all time couldn't even begin to explain. he touched her soul, her body, and her mind in ways she couldn't begin to decipher.

poetry can change a person. it all depends on who it strikes and what interpretation is taken. everything about him was a different verse; all mellifluous and flowing into a flawless creation. she felt like he was sent for her alone, a mysterious gift wrapped in satin paper and tied together with a bow of pure gold.

however, with poetry, there is always something hidden behind the stainless paper and flowing verses. a sense of utter despair is covered deep inside the crisp punctuation and flowery language.

he was poetry and she wanted to read him over and over. to taste his words and absorb every inch of his delicate form.

to him, he was simply a boy who moved to a new town.

that's the thing about poetry, it screams to be noticed.

but doesn't have a clue the effect it has.

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