She's not like most girls.
Instead of picking wildflowers in the field,
She picks the purple grass,
And cat tail like weeds,
Saying they are beautiful.
She loves nature.
She gets depressed in winter,
Because she can't hear birdsong.
She tells me about where she used to live,
And how she used to sing to the nightingales,
Or how they would sing together.
She's not like most girls.
She can make me smile,
Just by being in the same room as me.
She takes pictures of me when I'm sleeping,
Calls me her angel.
She writes about sadness,
But she can somehow make even that beautiful.
She's not like most girls,
But that's why I love her.

He's not like most boys.
He gives me smiles,
When the other boys wouldn't even glance my way.
He calls himself fat and ugly,
But I can see only beauty.
He has these gorgeous eyes,
They remind me of chocolate,
And the purest shade of honey.
He's not like most boys.
He's the first one who sees simply me.
He's blind to all of my flaws,
Although I try to point them out to him.
He writes songs for me,
Calls me perfect.
I can give my heart to him fully,
Because I know he'll never break it.
He asks me why I still write depressing poems,
And lately I've been writing less.
He has become my muse.
He's not like most boys.
He respects me implicitly.
I don't have to be afraid when I'm around him,
I can be myself.
I want to be with him always,
And I would stay with him forever if he would let me.
He's not like most boys,
But that's why I'm madly in love with him.

~Another poem dedicated to my love
 
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