Untitled 09.20.11

Definitely not my best poem...but still mine.

Here I am again with a paper and pen,
trying to write to you what I can't say,
hoping the words flow smoothly,
since you're so perfect to me.

Everytime you come around,
I turn the color of a red rose,
each time you hug me tightly,
I feel like I'm flying for a moment.

My pen seems to be failing me,
I can't stop shaking at the thought,
of saying this to you in person,
as soon as I see you, I'm frozen.

Everytime you're laughing with me,
the little private jokes and smiles,
seem to authentic; is it real?
Or am I hoping for it to be?

Here I am again with a paper and pen,
trying to write these words for you,
it doesn't seem to be going right,
so this poem will just have to do.