If I am an angel then where are my wings
If I am of grace why do I feel so far from heaven
If I am beautiful why don't I see it
If I am God's favourite then why do I resent him
If I am the one you worship, stop
Because I fell for a reason and that reason is sin

It's been years but you still call me your angel
It's been years but you still talk to me the same
It's been years and you've had other girls
Why do you still miss me?
Was it the way I made you feel like you could do anything
Was it the way I giggled when you called me silly
Was it that I'd look at you like you were the only person in the room
Or was it my smile in the morning?
Well whatever it was it must still be here
Why else would you keep coming back to me?

Why is it so hard to write poetry when I'm happy?
When I'm content?
When I'm gloriously in love?

Is it a requirement that I be in rage, in sorrow, in pain?
Drunk? High? Comatose?

Can I just not find the right words to describe my feelings?
Or maybe I don't need this outlet when I'm happy. I don't need to cut my emotions from my chest and attach them to words. I want my emotions here with me.