I am better with words When they are in my head As if the palette in my mind is clearer For in your presence, I More often than not, fumble Finding the right colors of expression Almost like how my inane paintbrush Behaves on its familiar canvas Dabbing colors at places where They are not required or whimsically Or adding streaks of hues to a Flawlessly flawed hue Hoping for articulation and In the process my paintbrush and I Ravage the art that had the Potential of creating magic So I leave it to you, if you may To embrace me and My myriad of unspoken words Because the words which are the most magical are often the ones Which are left unsaid.
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