It's like a halo burned in an open field,
asking where's the revelation
when it lies on your desk

It's kind of yellow contradiction thing,
saying "I'm trying"
but you're not quite there yet

And it's "I don't know" purged off of your lips,
thinking maybe one day
it'll all get better instead.

Click a button
Watch the numbers climb
Even if it means nothing
The feeling is sublime

𝐵𝓊𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝒶𝓎,
𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓎
I feel best in my strawberry dress
It's stupid, really
all glee and smile
gee, I acted like a child
It's stupid, really
I thought of nothing
but of my love for you
Godd-mn,
𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦,
𝘪𝘧 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭?

And if it weren't for those times
where impediment
was all I can speak of,  
𝚖𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎, 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍,
𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎
𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛
synthesizing
my weathered hyacinth
into a 𝕘𝕠𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕟 𝕕𝕒𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕕𝕚𝕝
resided by the lake
of your
evergreen field

Be it 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕤𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕙, 𝘍𝘪𝘵𝘻𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘥,
𝒮𝒽𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒, or 𝚁𝚞𝚖𝚒
No sonnets on earth
is as beautiful
is as grandeur
as God-made poetry;
You.