The Gift That You Are – A Poem

I am,gift-of-you

first and foremost,

a writer.

I am unable,

most times,

to speak what I want to say.

And so,

like every writer,

I turn to words.

I try to emote without speaking,

paint my emotions across the page with ink.

When I write of you,

I find those splotches of ink,

usually so vibrant,

and alive,

so lacking.

I can’t find the words to tell you what you mean to me.


the ink forms letters,

and I can arrange them into shapes,

forming syllables,


and words.

I have never known a man as beautiful as you.

I have never been so supported,

so respected,

and so loved.

You love all of me,

every little piece,

even the parts of me that I don’t love completely.

You see me for a beautiful human being.

Seeing myself through your eyes has shown me that I am beautiful.

Before you,

I yearned for love,

for true,

honest and pure love.

You have given me these gifts,

and I am so grateful for you.

I have tried,

over hundreds of pages,

to show you,

through words,


and stories what you mean to me.

And they all fall short of the gift that you are.

When I speak,

however clumsily,

I try to tell you every emotion,

every thing,

that I have tried to tell you through ink,

over so many pages,

so many words.

When I speak instead of writing,

I can only get out a few words.

There are only three of them,

but I hope they are enough.

with every fibre of my being:

I love you.

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