I am not a writer. I just write.
I am neither a poet.
I just want to drift and become a poem
And you will write me without complexity.

You see I am just a prose

              IRREGULAR
                       and
              ORDINARY

Still you see my beauty - loud and trenchant.
Your hands mapping out the verses of my skin
As I feel the warmth of the words I wanted to hear
From those lips I have kissed.

Your thoughts lithesome as they sashayed on ink and paper.

I can see how you etched my flesh like scars I wanted to bare in their own nakedness
For I have been a savage for too long that I want to be something you ignite with a touch

I do not write.
No, monsieur
I do not.
I cannot.

You see me and read my like a poetry when I am simply a prose
You looked through my soul
Loved me beyond all of my flaws.