.

i am the frost on your window,
the cry of a young wolf,
the thin blade of grass you just passed by.
i am the wind that caresses your cheeks,
the sweat that trickles down the nape of your neck,
the cold that embraces you during lights out.
i am the soft earth you trample your feet on,
the deep well in the forest you got lost in,
the path you followed that led to nowhere.
i am the stars in the midnight sky,
the languid clouds on a summer afternoon,
the drippy symphony of the crickets.
i am the white-picket fence,
the rusty old gate,
the creak you hear when open the cedar door.
i am the sigh that escapes your lips,
your early morning breaths,
the unfinished sentence you struggle to let out.
i am the scrawls on your notebook,
the dirt on your fingertips,
the paint stains on your shirt.
i am your cup of Sunday morning coffee,
the sluggishness of Monday noon,
the cool Tuesday evening dew.
i am the the lightning streaks you fear,
the ocean you once almost drowned in,
the broken china you dropped when you received news of your mother’s death.
i am the blood that rushes to your cheeks,
the smell of rain on damp earth,
the tinkling of chimes during an airy day.
i am the cat that jumped on your roof,
the worn-out pages of your favorite book,
the poems you keep in your drawer.
i am the voice inside your head
telling you things i am not
for in reality
i am not a lot of things
and these words mean nothing.
i can never compare to the beauty of life that surrounds you.
i am not a lot of things.
i am not loved and i am not yours.
and it makes me want to be a lot of things i am not
because you are beautiful
and i am just sad.