How can I explain it?
How can I express it?
How can I prove this point, clear?
One would think that poems express one's deepest fury or curiosity, care or dispute.
Would you rather me tell about the never ending mistakes?
Or the slim risks gone right?
I'll tell you about one of the only things gone right.
One would also think the male would be craving to write about his love to her.
I love every last mistake or gain about him.
All formed to make the sweetest person I've ever know to speak.
The gentlest human being to be seen or sensed.
A nervous wreck sometimes, but who's to say nervous isn't human?
An artistic being, talented beyond my knowledge.
The aura around my heart.
Slowly picking up the pieces, and putting them back into place.