to the dreamers

a girl made of the wild

not about anyone in particular, though i do hope to meet a girl with violet eyes someday ;)

---

your eyes were the precise
color of violets
the kind of gaze that held
a peculiar kind of
depth
the kind that you
couldn't look away from
but eyes are always
romanticized
and no matter how much i
loved yours
i am determined to keep this
poem
from becoming another
hopeless cliche

your skin was like molten gold
if it was dipped in sunshine
and smeared with the creamy pinkness
of sweet peaches
oil paint slathered onto a canvas
in the colors of sunrise
but i suppose that skin
is romanticized too
and i'm tired of
turning you into something
overused and ordinary
you were anything but
ordinary

let's talk about your
laugh
and how i could listen to it
twenty four hours
seven days a week
three hundred and sixty five days a year
and it would never get old
hearing it felt to my ears the way the
sizzling afterburn of vodka shots
feels to your throat after one too many
ounces has slid down it
but laughs have been
romanticized
since the beginning of time
so yours doesn't need to be

the way you talked
and the whimsical nothings
that wound their way out of your
mouth
over your teeth
across your tongue
as though it was the yellow brick road
only instead of oz it lead to
wonderland
or neverland
or a place where all your
dreams
could come true in a second
but we use words to romanticize
and i refuse to
romanticize
yours

your hair was a waterfall of
cascading silk
dark ebonies that rippled in the autumn
breezes as the sunlight danced over
the darkness of your waves
it glistened like
spun gold would've
if gold was the color of midnight
and if the midnight sky
had lost all of its stars
you tucked strands behind your ears
tossed them carelessly over your
shoulders
it made me swoon
did it really?
we always romanticize hair
we have to
for how could you really feel so much
for a dead thing?

your smile was blinding
the freckles across your nose
like a fanning expanse of pebbles
strewn across a path
lighting up
when the moon catches on them
your soul was magnificent
a tangle of emerald vines like no other
occupied the gilded cage
that your heart should've
you were a girl
made of the
wild
and i fought it at first
scrambling away from the
caverns and cliffs
the crevices that i could so easily
slip into
and never come back from
then i embraced it
and your wild
encapsulated my cookie-cutter
suburban shell
slowly crushing it
until there was nothing left

then you retracted your magic
and suddenly, the wonder was gone
replaced by the realization that
you
were
too.