I feel like this is sort of cheating for NaPoWriMo because this is a poem I wrote before, just slightly reworked for my poetry class. I’m not sure that I like the revision. If you want to see the original version, you can check it out here. Enjoy!
Lucifer sits beside me with one blue-jeaned knee pulled up to his chest and one lanky leg draped over the dock: “but isn’t pain sort of beautiful, in its own way?” his hair’s the kind of blonde that holds the sunlight and his eyes are speckled blue (but not so beautiful because he knows i’d be suspicious). “and where would art come from?” “you’re good,” i tell him as he picks at his guitar. he shrugs with a small quirk of a smile. “would you really want to be perfect?” “i don’t know,” i say. “i don’t know what perfect looks like.” the dusky sunlight shows the rogue freckle aside his nose and the teeth that are slightly (charmingly) crooked. “why do you think i fell?” he doesn’t need an answer, but my silence is one. “you’re good,” i say again. “i know.” the Adversary picks hey there delilah on the acoustic. “you’d miss it.” “maybe.” “you’d want a minor chord. a piece of poetry. something real.” “how’d you get so good at this?” another smile. “years of practice.” “maybe you’re wrong.” “and maybe i’m not.” i pause. “i guess we’ll find out.”