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Tired,
spouting these timeless tales,
falling, aging, losing grace
and I have not a clue . . .
I attempted to learn
how to occupy your ears
with music,
but I fumble over every note.
I fought for the words,
they never came from my mouth,
and I sounded like a mumbling fool
that didn't sound quite as good as You.
Athletics couldn't tackle your heart
or even academics
because while superficiality mattered to most
You drew no excitement from being the best.
My drawing skills always lacked.
While my heart said go,
my hand would never create
something as beautiful as You.
I cannot pride myself in
interpretive dancing,
acting my way out of my feelings,
or catching your essence in a photograph.
You slip through my fingers
like the air
that fills my lungs
and allows me to live.
So here I am,
trying to write
my feelings into a poem
for You.
I am a tired soul
falling, crawling,
forced to feel
and I have no clue
how to show you that I love You.
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