The art of loving you
is something I have yet to master
From the perfect strokes of
your imperfect, tanned skin
The small, brown eyes of yours
that luster in the sun, and
glisten under the starry night sky
To the sculpting of your
hands that I call home,
your arms that hold me close,
and calm me down when fear arrives
The smile of yours that gleam
with happiness and hope in the
darkest of days, in the light of day,
even through a tinted photograph
And your voice that I yearn to hear
before each day ends, your voice that sings
in spite of feeling that it's not good enough
to be heard, but is meaningful enough to sing a verse overflowing with love
There are times where I get tired,
where my thoughts can no longer produce lyrics to be sung,
choreography to be danced,
paintings to be adored,
sculptures to be created,
poems to be read,
and stories to learn from.
But in the eventide, I come Home
and realise that all I need is to admire
an artwork, a masterpiece,
filled with flaws, inside and out
despite the countless layers of colours;
a masterpiece filled with scars
has become even more beautiful
than it already was most simply
because that masterpiece
is You.
YOU ARE READING
Breathe
Poetry- how I breathe through the never-ending madness in my mind. [ 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐦𝐬 ] Highest Rank: #130 in Poetry #38 in Brokenhearted #8 in Venting
