You confuse me perpetually,
your personality is extreme,
your views the same,
but I may discover you eventually.

You are dramatic,
your prose over-wrought,
but still I see through,
the meaning you've hidden from view.

You are cheerful,
you give compliments undue,
but I see something else deep inside you,
I am suspicious of this happiness that you exude.

Your smile seems forced,
your personality a facade,
forged from childhood condition,
not exactly an original rendition.

Your words seem hollow,
rather than hallowed,
I'm wrong I know,
our differences are borrowed.

Your advice is often right,
seeing not what the others see,
a intuition beyond sight,
but it seems contrived to me.

You are human,
and so am I,
your intentions are pure,
mine are lost on the sky.

But still I have love for you,
unsure of the tinkering of your heart,
you,
as beautiful as your art.