sometimes i feel poetry in my chest that i can't express purposeless unconfessed a mess that i try to gather in my hands but like sand it slips from my grip, a confused clutter of carelessly uttered words of affection there's no direction to this senseless stumble of a poem no way for me to spill my ink in a pattern that will show you what i think and hope that you already know, you are the world and i am a fool for trying to fit your everythingness on a notebook page