Something About Her

There is
about her,
about her
more than
more than
true to life,
more than
I can explain.
I don’t have
any good reason
to love her,
any good reason
to stay,
except for how she’s
that illuminates me,
refreshes me,
emboldens me,
and sparks
all the fires
with which I’ll
burn down the world
and make it
my own.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.