These are the words I would never tell you,
Your smile, your eyes, your hair, that is just a plus to you, but your personality is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I thought after one year, the crush would be over but I was wrong.
7 years later and I'm still completely and utterly in love with you. You're the person I look for when I walk in a room, you're the person I can mess with their hair and wouldn't care. You're the person that I can throw a pencil at and make you pick it up and wouldn't get mad. You're the only man I trust, and you know how much I don't trust them. But I know I can tell every single secret but one and you wouldn't tell another soul. When you told me you believed in me, a piece of my broken heart went into it's place like a puzzle piece.

so there's this boy
and he makes me feel

for someone who felt numb for so long
feeling is nice

he makes me feel happy
like how sitting next to a fire, drinking tea, and reading poetry makes me feel

he makes me feel like a beautiful sunflower
he makes me feel like I'm actually worth something
he makes me feel like I'm enough

but with all the beauty he brings to my soul
he also makes my soul fear

fear of him leaving
fear of when he goes he'll leave me to feel numb all over again
I can't let that happened
I'm scared to lose him
I'm scared to let him in

Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

it's the small things that make me the happiest
see a bumblebee helping the flowers grow
running through an empty green field
a new song that gives me the chills
deep 2 a.m talks with him
seeing a huge smile on the faces of those I love
watching a sunflower grow
looking at the stars at 3 a.m
watching the sunrise as the birds sing their songs

all these things make me so happy
happier than any amount of money could bring to me