you've moved to brooklyn and your spotify account feels bare. if only they knew. you tap dance on the clean-slated slate and call it humor. you're funny, truly. beyond the frames, beyond your frames that shield your eyes (you read the comments anyway.) i find myself close to crying when i hear your voice, imperfections dulling as they come across the devotion of soul. you are a slave to this craft, but you relish in the whippings of the world. you form yourself out of the scars and you move forward. i woke up this morning hoping you were on your way to work, singing to the radio, to the universe, as if you were the only one with the blessed grace of stars. sometimes i just assume it's just you out there, absolutely stellar. you fill my head with conundrums and toss them away with a whistle, piercing through the whispers. i laugh at myself more because of you. your lanky posture makes me feel at ease, for there is beauty in the temporary. they joke that you'll blow away with the wind, and i wish to be a stray dandelion in your presence, weeding out all the bad if only for a moment. you're known amongst my friends now, but they don't get it. it hurts a lot all the time. and then, it rains, and you make the rain feel like rain. raining down on us, the raining rain, miles apart, damned by the same sky. you always get it.
keep singing.
YOU ARE READING
melted
Poetry❝the present was the present, and we didn't even know it.❞ dedicated to kjh and wb highest ranking: #27 in poetry
