On writing about what makes you speechless

the biggest burden I would have

is to write of you in the classical form

a perfectly punctuated sonnet wrapped

up succinctly with a calming beautiful couplet

mapped out the writing should be

exaggerated, not for the sake of arrogance

but for wafty mastery of grand emotion

I regret, I do not hold subscription

in said mastery

the words I think, write, and say

are so convoluted, muddy, unsure

human

without a leg to stand on

shoulder to lean on

lap to cry in

but they are only thoughts, and are but

words on a page

too honest to be spoken

too real to be understood

so here they stay

half crossed out all fully regretted

never to be seen by the likes of anyone

not a lover, nor anyone capable of understanding

this tender admition, that I will never speak to you