the world doesn't need any more sour tears
especially not ones as precious as yours;
the only ones you should allow yourself to shed
should taste like laughter and sunshine and summer rain.

How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?

How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?

I like to think that I tried.
But at the same time
they used to like to think that the world was flat
and that green eyes meant that you were cursed.
I also like to think that I would go to the end of the galaxy for you,
just so that I could fetch a few stars and bring them back
to show you that not every light is burnt out yet.
I like to think that the scars on both of our wrists
will fade with time and will heal with care.
But so far, the redness has not subsided.
Your voice is still ringing in my ears.
I’m not sure what you are saying, but you’re there.
And you’re here.
For the most part, you are everywhere.
And if I could spend one more restless night
curled in your arms so that I could kiss the inside of your wrist
and hope for magic to appear, I could die tomorrow
and be okay with that.
My tombstone could be painted yellow
and my corpse could grow flowers.
All because I hoped for a little magic
while the howling wind touched the windowpane
and your breath quickened on my shoulder.
I would let the coolness of your eyes
take my memory back to the Bahamian sea.
I would let the flutter of your eyelashes remind me
of the rainbow parrotfish and the fire coral.
I would let the salty softness of your skin sink into mine
so that maybe I won’t be so sharp anymore.
I would let myself drown in you
and this time
I wouldn’t call for help.
I would save my last gasping breath
to let you know how beautiful you are.
Then I would succumb to your sea
and I would sink to the bottom
to let my corpse plant flowers in you.

I don't want to admit
That after feeling so scared all day
Just seeing you
Made me feel better.

I know I am so monotonous
for always write a romantic poetry
with black ink on a plain white paper
I know I am so dull
to imagine you as my muse
to sing you a soft lullaby
when you are not even here

I know I am so pathetic
as a girl who fails at everything
as a girl who creates lots of mistakes and sins
as a girl who has not achieve anything
in her ****** - dark world

I know I am not enchanting
and I see your gorgeous smile
almost every night in my nightmare
and I see your misty eyes
almost everytime in my beautiful daydream
I know I am not beautiful
like the stars above tonight's sky
or like the small streams in a green field

but darling,
all I can think about is
making a lovely poetry for you,
composing flowing rhythms for you,
letting my fingers dance around my paintbrush
and painting every single thing on your face
in a smooth empty paper

and I am sorry for doing all of that
and I am sorry for thinking I have a chance
and I am sorry for dreaming of you as my stars
and I am sorry for hurting myself
with the thoughts of you in every minute of my life