I don't write poems
I speak my heart
Decorating the feeling I feel with fancy combination of letters

Like how he makes me feel when he enters the room
How my heart flutters like a flock of butterflies
Or how my stomach twist and turn like the day old cinnamon rolls stacked in the break room
My eyes stock in him, iron on magnet
But yet I'm invisible

Somehow all my poems are sad
I don't seem to be able to write happy thoughts, never glad
Whenever I try it always seem to go bad

I also never rhyme
A gift I'll say not given to all

This is a poem about the poems I write
I'm sorry If it doesn't seem poetic they're just the thoughts of my heart