He had all the stars to love,
Every galaxy to bestow his affection,
But instead he chose to love just
Me.
I, without the purity of the stars,
I, who was (I'll admit) selfish
In those days we spent together.
But he loved me, he did,
He fed me and kept me safe,
And we would talk about silly things
Like caterpillars, mountains, and me.
All I wanted to talk about was me.
I was so full of myself,
My skirt of petals was, then,
The only beauty in this small world.
I was not humble in those days,
I did not know that, out of all the stars,
He chose me to love instead.
But my thorns
Obscured my view.
And so he went away.
He fed me once more,
And I savored the feeling of his hands
As he sheltered me for the last time.
"Goodbye."
And with that he had followed the birds
Away, away, away.
YOU ARE READING
Art Will Survive, Artists Won't
PoetryThis book is a compilation of free-form poetry that I've written. Most of it is pretty personal, but I hope you'll like it regardless. POSSIBLE TRIGGERS: depression, self-harm, lgbtq+, suicidal thoughts
