Stardust

I like to write poems on a whim and then just post them. No edits, no changes. Just my initial thoughts in a silly ABAB rhyme scheme (usually).

[prophetstardust]

Changes.

I have fundamentally changed since I met you. I feel completely different, like a jumper that shrunk in the dryer. But it's not a bad change - the jumper fits better now, it's more snug but it's comforting, it shows off all my curves, but also my flaws.

I think you're that jumper. You've changed my perspective. I once preferred much looser sweaters, ones that hid my body, but now you've come into my life and you've made me happier. You've made me enjoy the way I look, far less ashamed and no longer hiding. You're comforting and warm. You wrap me up in your arms and I feel safe.

I love you.

[prophetstardust]

Autumn leaves crunch under my feet, and I love you more and more. The dappled sunlight between the trees casts beautiful warm patterns on the gravel path and it reminds me of you.

[prophetstardust]

Everything hurts and I'm tired,

I feel suffocated, like I've been buried before my time.

The dirt clogs my airways, fills my lungs.

I cannot scream, I cannot cry.

I can only allow the dirt to continue as it wishes,

Let my lungs fill with the soil and hope that something beautiful may sprout with time.

But I don't know how much time I have,

And I don't think I'll see those flowers bloom.

[prophetstardust]

You turn this tangled ball of yarn that I call my mind, into a neatly wound skein, easing my worries and unknotting my fears. You take the time to fix my jumbled cords of thought, understanding me in a way nobody else can.

You're the folder that holds my messy notes together, the rubber band that keeps me in one bundle. You're the ruler to straighten my wonky lines, the highlighter to make me stand out. You're the pencil case to hold all of my stationery, the ink pad for my stamps.

<3

[prophetstardust]

To be loved is to be changed

To be loved is to be changed.

Like how the trees change with each season,

You don't notice at first, the subtle differences.

The green leaves start to yellow with each passing week, and he calls you pretty more and more because he knows you like it.

The flowers begin to bloom and you find yourself wearing more of his favourite colour.

By the time you've noticed that the leaves have changed, they're beginning to fall, and when you've realised you're wearing his favourite colour, you've started to do your hair a certain way because he complimented it.

He takes off his glasses because you like to look into his eyes. He holds his palm to the small of your back without asking, because his hands are warm and he knows your back hurts. He gives you tight hugs because he knows you like the pressure.

You dye your hair, you were going to do it anyways but you do it a certain colour because you know he'll like it. You buy his favourite snacks to give him when you see him. You look carefully at the ingredients to make sure it's something he can eat.

He puts a hand under your chin because he knows it gives you butterflies. He notices the way you look at him and him alone, a glance reserved just for him.

The seasons have cycled through, back to the one you met him in. You're both the same, yet entirely different.

To be loved is to be changed, and to love is to want to change.

To be loved is a beautiful thing, and I love to be loved.

[prophetstardust]

I like to look upwards,

Glance toward the stars,

To read what is between them,

See the life on Mars.

I like to see them twinkle,

To know they are the same,

That now, tomorrow, and yesterday,

The stars don't know my name.

I am a star to them, as they are to me

A fleeting soul in a galaxy,

Not as unique as I'd like to be.

It's a comfort to know the stars are there,

Even when they hide away,

That the stars watch over me,

Each and every day.

When I find times are hard,

And all I can do is cry,

I look up towards the stars so comforting,

I look towards the sky.

[prophetstardust]

My father was a sailor,

My mother a simple dame.

I am just their daughter,

No legend to my name.

My mother passed,

Lost to the tide,

They lived out on a pier.

My father soon joined her too,

To be with his wife so dear.

They lay out on the seabed,

Cradled by the sea.

But tell me 'o my traveller,

Who will cradle me?

My father was a sailor,

My mother a simple dame.

I am just their daughter,

N'er a soul knows my name.

The town talks of their tragedy,

Their fight with the sea.

They all forget my sorrows,

They all forget about me.

My father is a deadman,

My mother is as well.

I am just their daughter,

And to this pier I bid farewell.

[prophetstardust]

I used to live on a pier,

By the sea in May,

Where I held my love so dear,

And we would watch the waves all day.

Each day she'd call me in for supper,

A modest meal it would be,

Our class it was not upper,

But stomachs full they would be.

My wife, I call her Mary,

I'd tell her she was the one,

She was so light and airy,

Until my wife was gone.

Swept away by a violent tide,

I'd tried my best to save her

The currents would push and hide,

She was gone, my love, my wife, my neighbour.

I no longer live by the pier,

The salt air stings my eyes,

I miss my wife so dear,

I'm sorry for her demise.

Now I lay under the current,

Let the water seep into my bones,

At last next to my wife mary,

This seabed is my home.