I'm a decaying piece of organic matter, but you can call me Claire. I'm a bookworm, isolated in the depths of non-reality, I live in splotches of color and orangey sunsets-- sometimes even in the absence of color at all, like a boring newspaper spread on Sunday mornings. I breath and long, intricate sentences come out, weaved neatly of beautiful adjectives and solemn metaphors. I whisper activism in my deepest sleep. I am alive in the most ways possible, I have an eye for beauty and an ear for music. I sit alone sometimes and ask the world why I'm here, and I still haven't got much of an answer. I will never give up on asking. I will never stop thinking, and I like that about myself.
Don’t be upset.
You are cute. Adorable. Even snuggleable.
I write you cheesy poems cuz you’re cute even when you frown
But it’s sad to see you so in pain so I try and turn it upside down.
A boy so sweet, you heat my cold heart when I’m upset
The sound of you crying makes my insides twist and strain
The blood from my heart draining
I can’t even explain the way my heart skips a beat when you slump and sigh
The best kind of guy always there to make my heart fly doing a cliff dive
And I know it’s my job to pick you back up again
Because how you feel is how I feel
And you smile you fill my heart with zeal
I hope this cheesy poem made you all better
Warm and fuzzy inside like a big ol’ poem sweater.
