Pinched between your pointer, your index, and your thumb.

3

You showed me glimpses of your past.
Glimpses of the heartbreak who made you who you are today.
You showed me your notebook of poems.
The messy scribbles of raw, emotional writing.
They all rhymed, following a similar rhythm that was your signature style.
They all talked about pain, sadness, anger, misery.
You take an ugly subject and make it beautiful.

put me down in your notebook and make me beautiful too.