i am not very good
at a lot of things;
i cannot paint
you pictures
because the beautiful
things in my head
cannot be translated
nor can i sing to you
as my voice has an uncanny habit
of falling flat
nor can i play for you
as my fingers fumble
when my thoughts cross over to how
you look, watching me
but i can brush the
knots out of your hair,
and work the knots
out of your back
when your day
has become too
much to bear
i am not very good at much,
but i will be good to you
(kpk)
sometimes i think i'm happy but after a while i feel messed up inside and out
like i'm sad but i don't know why either
and i think that really sucks because it doesn't make any sense
i don't quite know what i want anymore
