you don't know your own power
when your hands are anywhere in my vicinity
or when your eyes are locked on mine
or when your words are slowly weaving through the air
from your lips to my ears
you have never understood
that you are magnificent
and i suppose i have to wonder why no one has informed you before
you have told me so many beautiful things
urging me to become a writer
saying i have a "gift" when it comes to words and that i need to pursue it
you told me that you love bodies like porcelain
"like yours," you added, which makes me ask myself
did you even look at me at all?
"seriously, i don't see what you're talking about at all" referring to my constant digs at my ****** state
how utterly unattractive i am?
"you are absolutely beautiful" your eyes are drilling into mine and i cannot stop my heart from swelling
yeah, well, so are you. more than i could ever be
you even used the word perfect
perfect: a term that, for as long as i have had the pleasure of knowing you,
you have abstained from including in your vocabulary
you told me once
(probably back in september when she was still around and
you were worming your way deeper into my heart)
that perfection doesn't exist,
not outside of the divine, of the god that you so dearly believe in
and i am quite partial to
so what does it mean when you tell me that i am perfect?
in body, in mind, in heart?
how could you think such pretty things of me and not see that it is all present in you as well?