I admire your each step,
I admire the mystery around you,
I admire each syllable of every poignant word you press to paper
and the words you do not.
I admire the love you proclaim to have for her,
and if I knew her,
I should think I'd admire her too.

I don't know you
nor shall I ever,
but I can still watch you walk the school halls
and wonder what makes you tick,
what your family does and doesn't do,
what you were like as a child
how you became like this
and how you are able to enchant the world with your writing-
making me eternally frustrated with my own-
ranking my words by whether or not you
like or comment or repost them-
which you don't,
thus I feel a failure.

You have a purpose with your words,
something to say
and you say it so strong
and with such beauty
and heartache
I crave the next time you post-
and I'll evermore continue to wonder
how you became so mighty.

Do you work on your poetry or is it natural?
is it because you read so much?
is it because you don't waste countless hours on the computer
or watch TV?
How did you become you
which is so admirable
and mysterious
and deep
and talented
and unique?

I know I don't have a right to ask these questions
and with what little I know about you
I certainly don't have the right to admire you
and I don't deserve to know your life story,
but I'd like to know anyways.