I gotta write till I'm blue and there isn't a shoe
That fits my heart like a glove the way you do
Now, this isn't the poem about love
This is the olive branch swept up
In the hands of a dove.
This one is for me.
For my peace.
This is because I can't stop caring about myself
This is because I need my mental health
And that thing you do makes make it ever so true
I can't leave you.
Like the ocean laps the shore,
When I think we cant be apart anymore,
I always, always slink back in close to you.
So, love I'm sorry if my words don't teach
and I'm sorry, I don't want to preach
to you, you the one who I tell everything,
You, the weight on the end of david's sling
Knocking down the goliath of my love.
I want to be that dove, without a clipped wing
so that I can go to you and sing
I need you.
If thats selfish then let it be,
I need you as far as I can see
And we haven't really been seeing anything at all, lately.
I'm sick and tired of cliches
My heart being in a daze
and using someone else's words to tell you,
you, the one who isn't afraid of me
the one who tells me that I shouldn't be
trying to be anything but plain, old me.
If thats enough then, the draft is rough
and I don't want us to turn in the final copy
when we both know it's still too sloppy
because the edits to my heart aren't necessarily the edits to my soul.
Life is hard to do
and poems that are about you
Make me feel sad and blue
after I'm done writing and the glove, becomes a shoe.
So like they say if the shoe fit's then wear it
but it's hard for me to bear it knowing
that what used be a glove is now a shoe.
And it's harder for me to say
I love you.
