Your hands were those of a musician or perhaps an artist, nonetheless they showed that you were a creator.
I think I fell in love with being your masterpiece,
I think I fell in love with being worth something to someone that meant everything.
And you will use your paint and pencils, your clay and brushes, and redo my imperfections.
You were always good at fixing things,
Or maybe you were just good at making things seem less broken.
In the end it doesn't matter.
I long for you to play that song,
With the lonely melody that reminds me of the beach,
The song you played for me the first day we met.
It's still my favourite to this day.
Do you remember the way you held me then.
Like I was some piece of pottery; fragile.
And I will deny it as long as I live but that is the closest I've ever been to love.
You painted a portrait of me,
A simple thing really.
But for once I was portrayed as soft edges,
As if I was somebody you could fall in love with.
I want to be your muse more than anything.
For once I want to be the inspiration for something beautiful.
But I wanted too much and now I'm paying for what it means to be art.
To be encased in time,
Trapped as a never changing thing.
You got bored and left.
For a piece of art is only interesting when there is more to discover.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy That Never Forgot Their Name
PoetryStep into the life of a mystery in this poetry collection exploring romance, death,pain, and creatures out of this realm. Forget what you have learned of heartbreak and ghosts because when you walk into the forest I promise that you will know the tr...
