The English Poem Poem by Ridhvi Sharma

What a random Wednesday to write,
A pen and a book in my hand, with the sun so bright.
Trying to chase the imagery from the depth of my thoughts,
I have a voracious curiosity about you-that's all I've got.
They say my grief is a mere hyperbole,
When making my name is what I dream solely.
When I shared my pain, you called it a bore,
Isn't it crazy, How I think of you as my metaphor?
Your pliancy fills the ink of my pen,
You are the star, and I the shadow-a literal juxtaposition.
How can you not stay for so long,
Or is it true that we are an oxymoron?