I try to write about you
I try to write about you.
I try to write about the way I see you.
I try to write about you and all the things
you never even realize you make me do.
And I fail.
I miserably fail.
I grab a pen and a paper
but my thoughts race way too fast,
faster than my fingers are even able
to turn any of the letters into words.
I grab my phone instead and yet
my even louder thoughts fail to realize
how the intensity of my every touch
only happens to so badly paralyze
every inch of my fragile screen.
I turn to my laptop as a last resort
then mentally smile at my 10 year-old self,
for being so obsessed with typing games
I never even knew would one day help.
I finally rest my hands on the keyboard,
this is it; the moment I’ve been waiting for.
I try to explain
how your sole existence
makes me light
makes me free
makes me glow
makes me feel
as though
I have all the time in the world
to create
to connect
to write words
I never thought I would
to bring things
into existence
and out
to turn you
into poetry
and share it with everyone
yet keep you to myself
inside my head
where you still feel
too good
to be real.
And I try to explain
how you make me fall in love
with the storyline
of my life
even though
it doesn’t make sense,
especially when
it doesn’t make sense
because you still feel
too good
to be real.
And yet I fail.
I miserably fail.
Because every time
I try to write about you,
I end up writing
about myself.
But would it make any difference
if I take a moment to explain
I have always been a person
who feels so self-centered
just having to repeat her name
when asked about it twice?
Would it make any difference
if I mention how much I’ve been
trying to hide from the world
all my life?
Would it make any difference
if I tell you
I’m finally able to look at myself
back in the mirror
and smile?
