It looks like no writer
can escape the clutches
of their true inspiration.

Cattails in the morning dew
Gently swaying in the wind
Glistening in the sunrise
Stretching toward its warmth
Butterflies spread their wings
Landing in unison with its motion
Perched upon its summit
Clinging on in the cool breeze
Still glistening in the morning dew

I want to write you a poem
but maybe it wouldn't be good enough
I would write a song, but it'd come out wrong
and that *****.

I wasn't sad, I was happy you gave me a chance. I wasn't upset because you just gave me my favorite dance.

I'd like to write your favorite poem. The one you read every night that helps keep from feeling broken. I want to be your favorite thief, that was amazing at steeling your eyes and attention. Because as I sit alone in my detentions all I can think about is a kiss on the cheek and how innocent are my intentions. Sorry, there I go, I was writing this and got the stutter. I guess even pretending gives me the shudders. It's so embarrassing the way I mutter under my breath that I'd love to be your favorite color. I'll be the red in the roses you love and you'll choose bright baby blue, but that's okay because we both knew I never had a chance with a beautiful girl like you. It was like jumping and expecting to never hit ground, and while it lasted you were so nice to be around. I just wanted to hug you and love you and bow down as I handed a beauty queen her rightful crown. Now, notice I said "love you", but I don't mean as a love her. Because I'm not in love, I don't know what love is. And you won't let me in enough for me to be a lover, but if you give me a pen and paper I'll give you one last favor. A kiss to your lips, because I'd **** to be your favorite flavor.