He would often
call her insane,
for saying that
her poetry was
more than just
lines on a page,
or that with a
simple slip of
the tip of her
pen, she could
feel life radiating
from the paper.
His brows would
furrow in the most
ridiculous shape,
at the fire behind
her hazy eyes,
whenever she
holds a book.
for he could not
understand her
adoration for words,
although he
claimed to be an art
lover.
his lips would have
an after bitter taste,
after the multiple
complaints about
the amount of time
she spends locked
in a room with
nothing but a cup
of coffee and a
plume. Because
he prefers to stay
with her tangled
in the sheets,
planting roses
into the wounds
of her back, to
make her look
a little more
beautiful. But
little did he
know that
beautiful doesn't
always mean
pretty.
YOU ARE READING
Dried petals
Poetry"and I find myself tucking your smile in the space that lies between every letter .for babe , if I can't keep you by my side ,then I'll lock you in each poem these hands write down ."_Aya Highest rank #43 in poetry on 23/7/2017 .
