“Poetry deserves to be felt.
Experienced.
Just like you.”

Let me tell you a little bit about how I fell in love with poetry. It wasn’t one thing, either. No one piece stood out to me and hit me like a ton of bricks. It was the little things. How the light moved through your hair and the dust particles danced in the air around you. It was the shade of your eyes. Reminding me why the sky is so beautiful during a clear day. It was the way you saw me. The way you let me see you. It was the way your hands moved, like they were meant to be touched. Where your fingertips ran over my skin, I could feel the electricity. It was your arms. Their strength. The way they could make my world stop spinning. Your heartbeat. The way it could call mine. It was…

I want someone to taste the misery on my lips,
someone to sit next to my shattered self-worth
and feel the possibility of me becoming beautiful.
I want someone who understands that rainy days
and misty nights make for splendid scenery,
who would build me a home in the middle
of an everlasting rainstorm, always hiding
our doorstep deep inside the fog.
I want someone to juggle their baggage, though it be
heavier than mine, to burn candles for me,
and hang lanterns from the branches of the trees
that line the road they travel on their way home to me.
I want someone who understands that everything
I have ever loved, though it all be unworthy,
was worth it in the end, and I want them to remember
fondly our end, long after I am gone and we have
rewritten it so many times that the world’s grandest
libraries…