You want me to write you a poem,
as if it is such an easy thing.
“You are good with words” you whisper,
as if on command I will sing.
What should I say? That I do not say every morning when I wake up beside you?
Everyday I am with you, holding your hand and supporting you,
This is my poem to you.
I have no words for this,
I have no great and epic song.
I am standing here holding all the pieces,
Desperately keeping things from going wrong.
I will not write you a poem, because simply put,
I am your poem.