Romans & histoires Describe Myself Poem With Rhyming Words

He sang of me, as though I were a poem made flesh, every detail of me refracted through beauty itself: *“Red-brown fire, your hair in the light, Olive eyes that turn sorrow bright. Small and soft, yet stronger than stone, Delicate flower I’d call my own. Every star envies the glow that you bear, Every dawn bends to the warmth in your care. Though fragile you seem, my heart only sees, The strength of a soul that brings kings to their knees.”* His voice soared with each line, yet never harsh—every syllable wrapped around me like silk, turning the sterile world of doctors and appointments into something almost holy.

When the vast expanse of sky was enveloped in darkness, we realized who we were. I am getting tired of explaining how your eyes are like a galaxy in a bottle and how your lips shine like a crescent moon in the darkness. You are, without a doubt, my walking poetry. However, these are merely common analogies. Every time I fall, I feel like a leaf that has dried out and lost its sheen, but you have painted me a warm green under the soft colors of the sun's rays. I feel like I am falling into autumn with you.

So I decided to focus on writing the poem which I imagined so I won't forget when he ask me ! What you have done to me It's not me I'm sure it's not me You're not a perfect match for me you're bad and cruel But who knows you're the most pain baring person Your pain is vulnerable Your pain is invisible You're not the person whom you're portraying to the world You're a kid craving true love to mend your heart I will be your guardian angel in your life of hell I will be light to your dark soul I will mend your heart with a ray of hope called love

And as I navigate this world, seeking your true name, I'll carry your essence, your spirit, within the poet's flame. =======

I reluctantly parted my lips and sang. "Standing by the riverside Breathing in the air Serenity I realize Is hidden everywhere So, I close my eyes As the water is drifting I try to memorize The beauty that I see This is what I long for A place to calm the fire raging in me This is what I've dreamed of This place where I belong is what I need All my trouble seems futile Nothing bothers me Here right by the riverside I'm free to be me Nothing can touch me now Not a whisper in my ears

mushkil ho gaya khud ko kaise How did it become difficult for me pahachaanuu main pahachaanuun to recognize myself, to recognize myself din kaTta hai kaTte na raatiya I endure the daytime; the nights are endured kis se kahuun main ye saarii baatiyan To whom can I tell all these things? guDiyaa Doll man men tarangen uTHne lagii hain Waves have begun to roll through my mind yeh kaisii yeh kaisii

I ask myself. "Umm...no." "Hmm..." I look around the room for inspiration. The red ink stands out to me. Stay? Could that fit? I want to run far, far away To a place where I feel I can’t stray Stay somewhere I feel welcome And not like an outcast Because it seems everywhere I go I feel like a victim eaten up fast For once I plead Someone to ask me Will you please... stay?' And just like that, with the one word the poem completed itself, it became whole , it was finished, it's own living and breathing entity of words and letters and deep meaning.

me, has spied I move away, from where I hide, Shhhhhh be quiet, My legs are heavy, I slowly stepped, you escorted, up I crept tears I wish, that I had wept, I move my hand, away are swept, no way for me to leave, get out, they'd never hear me scream & shout trudging on with wary doubt, I bite my lip, I moan & pout, in every step, as I grow brave, climbing up, a darkened grave, with every step, my soul to save, Very dramatic poet, emmmm thanks, read on, I reach the top in my suspense, ahead I say, in my defense, sorry if you're feeling tense, It's alright, I open up the door ahead, filling me & you with dread, dragging knuckles, telluric bed, I look, in horror, shrilling, ....shrieking a glow

“But I have seniority. That makes my mistakes forgivable.” He collapsed onto the floor beside me, panting through his laughter. “You’re just old.” “Old enough to know better,” I countered. “Old enough to know that poems aren’t just words, they’re maps. They take you to who you’re supposed to be.” Liam was quiet for a moment. Then, in a smaller voice, “And who am I supposed to be?” “Someone who remembers,” I said. “Someone who keeps the good parts alive.”