just a writer

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my ardor is at a peak today, so here, have this:

I'm just a writer,
which just fucking blows,
as I can't write what I want to convey,
because nothing I write will be able to truly say how I see you...

If I was a sculptor, I'd be able to precisely make your body, your face, your everything
I'd be able to get an exact replica of your smile, that golden boy grin that reaches up to your eyes.
I'd be able to catch you in your best pose, looking up at the sky with your head held high.
But I'm rubbish at that, I can't even mold clay.

If I was a painter, I could paint those eyes, those captivating browns with the flakes of hazel...
I'd be able to put paint you beside me, your hand over mine as we look away from all our problems.
I'd be able to hang your portrait up on my wall and every morning I'd know I could make it through the day.
But I can't even draw a stick figure.

If I was a singer, I could sing my heart out, to sing the lyrics of my infatuation,
I'd express to the heavens of my praise in song for you until I lose my voice.
I'd make sure all the speakers in the world could hear my ardor.
But my voice sounds like a broken record

If I was a musician, I could play my instrument to the sound of my heartbeat.
I'd play my strings and with every note,
It would all be for you.
But I can't even follow the rhythm.

If I was a dancer, my legs would move to my feelings as I danced for you,
My movements fluid and sweat dripping down my neck.
I would leave the barre and always go across the floor to reach you
But I don't even have a single dancing bone in my body.

All I am is a writer.
Unable to truly express this feeling of falling in love with you.
Pencil, paper, everything I do,
doesn't matter what I use.
No matter how hard I try, I can't fully describe you.
It won't even reach your ears, on the stage that you stand upon.

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