you laughed at my anger
I took it as a sign
a sign you didn't care
didn't understand me

but I was the one who didn't understand
I was the one who took your laughter as disrespect
it was just you trying
trying to calm down my flames

you were only trying to fix me
fix what's going to happen next
change it so it doesn't get bad
you were the one understanding me

I just took it as
as...
as something I can't explain
but you can clearly explain it

break it down and explain to to me
that's what I admire but I also misunderstand you so much
I don't deserve you
I really don't...

With a voice that fails me
I aim at the lines between your hope and my despair
With a needle, in an effort to achieve precision
To stitch our thoughts together
They’re so similar, so different
You think of October as a warm home
And I see it as a cold houseguest
And we co-exist in this oblivion
This circle of this or that
I admire your willingness to fill spaces
And you question my fear of being heard
You relish in the colours of fall
And I dread the looming winter
How is it that we left September
Hand-in-hand, wishing for rain...

If I could ride a white stallion,
wearing burnished armour of gold.
I would cross the high mountains
for my eyes on your smile to behold.

Across land scorched by suns fire,
droughts parched burning sand,
all this I could defeat and endure,
for a mere touch from your hand.

You have me captivated, enthralled
by means of your charm and your grace.
Entranced and passively subdued,
by beauties smile on your face.

How sad has become this world.
where poetry for a beauty is not news.
I behold the wonder and the beauty,
of my goddess, my passions true muse.

I will break all my limbs
to have her mold me
as a clay sculpture

To carve her knife
into my skin because
this is how art is made

To have her look at me,
study me, conceal my flaws,
till I am finally perfect

To be owned by her,
her creation to
admire and love

and she is like a painting,

the colors of her soul infuse the dark world around her.

Flowers grow at the sound of her laugh,

for that's all the warmth they need.

Her smile radiates across the room,

a light that invites and guides those who are lost.

She lives, not with an overconfidence in herself,

but with an understanding that her beauty is up to interpretation.  

She is able to admire the other paintings in the gallery,

but still knows she has something beautiful to offer.

She is just herself,

and she is like a painting.