if i am a writer, you are my pen
i find you, i use you again and again
and it isn’t fair to either of us when
your ink finally runs out
if i am a singer, you are my voice
i can’t help but need you, i don’t have a choice
and who’d think that i’d want to laugh and rejoice
when I find that you’re suddenly gone
if i am a painter, then you are my brush
i try to deny you, you tell me to hush
and who’d think that i’d ever love you this much
to lose you, and just leave you be

watercolours

they were never for me
i tried my hand
please understand
it was too good for me

if i am a peasant, you are the king
i have no value, you have everything
yet sadness tainted you, you felt its sting and
you settled for me
if i am a star, then you are the sun
you dazzle and awe and inspire everyone
and i am hidden and noticed by none and
i’ll never be the moon
if i am a sketch, then you are divine
even michelangelo made nothing so fine
though we are both bitter as mulberry wine
my love is sickeningly sweet
if you were just you and i was just me
you’d find someone else you’d want me to be
i know that it’s harsh, but that’s reality
you always push me away
if i was just me and you were just you
i would still love you, i know that you knew
and she wouldn’t love you as much as i do
but i guess that means nothing to you

you were never for me
i tried my hand
please understand
you are too good for me