he was like a night sky- starry
no, not starry
he wasn't that bright
and there wasn't much left of him like there were stars.
he was more of a cloudy night
or a misinterpreted forecast
like - like a day that was supposed to be sunny
that's what all the men and women said
but, the day ended up raining on you
but that was him to other people.
maybe to me, he was the opposite
he was not a starry night though
that was definitely not him
he asked me about my stress
he could see the grey oozing from my fingertips
i said im okay
he questioned me more
he had the kind of voice that was rough
clearly affected
screaming, yelling? i didn't know
but this voice was deep and charming
something naive girls would be so quick to call "sexy"
to me it was soothing
even if you didn't know him,
he had the sort of tough and oddly comforting voice
that made you want to crawl up into his arms
that weren't bulk
weren't bony
most people who had no access to the outside world
took what they heard for granted
those people despised him for his bitterness
he let them talk
he knows he is bitter
he can't change that
he's tried to melt the cold
but can you really melt the frost on your windshield with what little time we have of the winter?
but they didn't know a thing
and i know they've never heard his voice.
i really like this i might make a story that bounces off of the story this poem is telling
