BLOGERISTA

I cannot write poems about you. I cannot write about how you bring me flowers every day because frankly, you almost never gave me any. I cannot write about how you bend to tie my shoe laces for me because you never did and only said it’s corny. I cannot write about how you show others how much you love me because you said it should not be their business. I cannot write about how you see me as pretty like all the girls on the magazines because my beauty is not for others to assess. I cannot write poems about you. You don’t bring me flowers everyday but you planted a garden full of roses in my soul; a source of my lifetime supply of tummy butterflies. I used your phone the other day and I saw photographs you took of a girl drinking coffee, a girl smiling while in the grocery, A girl who looks happy in a bookstore, And a girl sleeping peacefully. All of them are unaware and all of them are me. You see, I cannot write you a poem. I can only see how much you love me without all