Spilled Tea

Beautiful Frustration

I keep asking myself why
I haven't wrote a poem
about you yet.
You give me this
indescribable feeling.
You are indescribable.
It's as if you, yourself,
are the essence of poetry itself and no poem feels like it will amount itself to you.
When I first saw you,
I knew there was more to you than I could see at the time
and I was determined to learn.
You've caught me off-guard.
You are the first girl
who has made words
so difficult to come by
in the most wonderful way.
You can imagine how difficult
this is to write for I feel
as if there are millions of things
to say but none will formulate
into sentences.
You feel like intimidation
in its best form.
Like kindness,
pureness,
awareness.
Like hours that feel like minutes.
In book stores,
during phone calls,
sitting in local coffee shops,
car rides in road trips to nowhere,
laying under a million stars,
watching the snow fall,
all of these with you.
You're smarter than you give yourself credit for
and your mind is fascinating.
Your way of thinking
is somewhat rare
and something that this world needs to have more of.
You are someone that
everyone, including myself,
needs to learn from.
I feel a bit of frustration
because I still feel like nothing
I am saying is conveying
all that I wish I could say.
Beautiful frustration
that has led into
more of rambling
instead of a poem.
I hope that if you see this
you will understand.
You always seem to understand.
For now, I think this will do.