The Gift That You Are – A Poem

I am,

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.

Usually,

the ink forms letters,

and I can arrange them into shapes,

forming syllables,

sounds,

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,

poems,

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.