Poetry

My forehead is covered in stars

And they cover my eyes sometimes

so all I can see is the brightness they give off,

twinkling like polished, princess cut gems

only seen on T.V.

Before, my forehead

was perpetually covered in rain clouds,

black fluff that wouldn’t budge

no matter how many times I scrubbed my face raw.

Then I became friends with someone whose hair was covered

in gleeful fire demons,

his grin as swamping as theirs

but overjoyed, not menacing.

We talked. We rambled. We talked. We rambled.

And the fire demons latched onto my own hair

as finally we kissed,

running across my brow

to settle in their original forms,

usually only seen in the night sky.