Friday Poetry: "The Angel & the Hunter"

I hope you've all had a wonderful week—mine was pretty exhausting and I'm so glad for two days of freedom.

Fun fact about this week’s Friday Poetry: originally there were 12 stanzas, but I shortened it to 11 because you make a wish at 11:11 and I'm romantic like that. I truly hope you enjoy it, and I can’t wait to hear your thoughts. xx

The Angel & the Hunter


he has green eyes,
flecked with made-up colours and
too many emotions for you to keep up with.
he hides behind a crooked smile,
a mask he doesn’t know he’s wearing.
his smile is not real,
but his eyes are.


you want to fix him, but you don’t quite
know what’s broken. you think maybe
it’s everything, and then you change your
mind and decide that it is nothing.
he catches you staring at him and
instead of turning away, he stares back.


he wants to fix you, but he doesn’t quite
know what’s broken. you tell him nothing
but he looks at you and you think maybe
it’s everything. his hands linger on the
steering wheel, strong and steady and
everything you are not, and you decide that
you want him to fix you anyway.


when he works on his car he hums under
his breath, and he doesn’t think anyone hears him, 
but you do. 
his skin is smudged with oil and his soul is
smudged with scars, but you think they are
both beautiful all the same. he turns and
sees you and his green eyes sparkle like
he knew you were there all along.
maybe he did. 


he gives you a nickname, and it feels like
a promise and a lullaby all rolled into one.
you say it to yourself when you are alone amongst
too many broken spirits, and it lights up the
darkness in a way that no star has ever
been able to do.


you stare in the rearview mirror of
his beloved car, and he stares back.
the thought flits across your mind
too quickly, too easily: he loves the car,
and you love him.


he infuriates you. his eyes infuriate you.
his not-smile infuriates you. everything about him
drives the last clutches of sanity from your mind.
the sun sets crooked and the car engine rumbles and
you want to kill him and you want to kiss him, and
you don’t know which is worse.


he pretends to love his car more than his family,
and you pretend not to notice how his eyes soften
when he looks at them.


you know that he is nothing more than the bones that
tie him together and the blood that runs through his
veins, but you can’t help but wonder how he feels like
so much more than that. he says your name like a prayer
and you can’t quite fathom why that makes you feel so
empty and so full, all at the same time.


you pretend not to notice how his eyes soften
when he looks at you.


his smile is not real,
but his eyes are.