Somebody like you

I have trouble expressing myself,

I loll on words,

procrastinate about sentences that have anything to do with my internal environment

but dare me to describe anything else,

and I find no lack of words to express myself regarding other people's creativity.

But you,

you I want to capture outside the meaningless shallow depths of my mind.

I want to purposefully go deep into the dark abyss of a place I have never seen,

I want to describe a thing and mean it.

I want to use all the syllables necessary to spare you from my own inadequacies.

You live in the parts of me that shine.

Breathe the air I breathe,

touch the skin I touch.

You languish in my memories like a perfect simile,

I eagerly await the day that I get to be a part of your moment.

You are the soundtrack to my indie movie,

the rolling hills,

the summer breeze,

the art of poetry with its open vulnerability.

 You move me like the tide,forever reaching for the shore.

You calm me, get me all fired up,

make me feel comfortable enough to stare openly at your perfection.

You appreciate my vague notions and trust even the emptiest of my emotions.

You fill me up and drown me in this notion that you are and always will be,

my somebody.

Each day I am better, each day I am happier

nailed to this cross,

tied to this tree,

locked in this cage.

You are all wonder, all surprise

and your smile takes me to places that make up for all the places I have never been.

I sit around and daydream, plot ways in which to make you smile again,

replay images in my head...ah my somebody.

To have been so privileged to be loved

and you so unfortunate that all my creativity leans more towards destruction.

Those juices that flow to make things that take others captive and leave them in awe,

they come from pain and  cold suffering.

My morbid literary desires are ill suited to a man that is clothed in pure happiness.

Your raiment is the sound of peace

that doves awaken when they clutch an olive branch to some faraway kingdom of my heart.

Words should not loll,

sentences should not fall victim to my procrastination

and hard as I try, somebody of mine, I just fear that my honesty will not be honest enough.

My sincerity not quite so sincere, and my words will fall flat, cold and black like the ink that creates them.

Any expressions of you should be done by silver spun sands or the remnants of falling stars.

The words should linger and yet be as accessible as low hanging fruit of the knowledge tree.

They should be simple and elegant, every letter filled with meaning.

For this is all I have to offer in exchange for somebody so brave,

somebody so true,

somebody so loving...

somebody like you.