I moved to the stars
to see the view
looking down on the world
with shining eyes
-
I moved to the moon
to camp on the dark side
in the morning
when I'm tired of myself
-
I sailed to the sun
to feel the heat kiss my lips
and flew back to earth
to see my love I so missed
"Sir, madam, have you ten cents to spare?"
The star-peddler's call was everywhere
Mittened hands reached out to accept
The young peddler's wooden stars.
Snow, so silver, twinkled down
Bathing all in pure white crown
And the star-peddler, dressed in rags
Continued down the bustling street.
But there was a tug. Pleading eyes
As blue as the yet-to-come spring skies
Asking for a star, but no coins to offer
To make a sick mother happy, at home.
The peddler was reluctant, but there was no reason
A voice told him: It's the giving season
And so the peddler gave a boy a free star
And noticed that the receiving hands were bare.
The boy tur
you always told me I was melodramatic by iAmoret, literature
Literature
you always told me I was melodramatic
I was cleaning my room today
(I know, a real shocker).
In the back of my bookshelf,
folded and tucked away,
I found your pictures,
and your letters,
and "best friend forever!"s;
All the birthday best wishes
that something deep inside me misses.
I was afraid of being lonely,
but now I fear a change.
The thought of possible rejection
keeps me tolerant of the pain.
So maybe I'm just crazy,
and maybe that's the whole problem
that keeps the same old story on repeat,
of how I've found 'best friends' and lost them.
Though writing this isn't easy,
I think it must be said,
for the more I avoid reality,
the more my soul feels dead.
drag this pen across my skin
scream sweet soliloquies
bleed ink and weep metaphors
cold knife to hold me tight
rhythmic rambling at its finest
no one reads my letters, anyway