Used to Be

I used to be a poet. I was reading through my file tonight. Full of angst, dark words, metaphor and prose. I don't know if it was childish emotion that lent strength to my particular abilities, but those poems would probably scare parents rightfully out of their minds when really -- truly, Mom, I promise -- most of those poems were just written because I liked the ring of the words.

Okay, there may have been some angst in there too. Who doesn't get to adulthood without a little angst? Some of them I really liked, and when reading them was like, "Wait, did I really write that?" Partly because it was something I liked and mostly because I don't remember where I had to be in my life to write like that.

Ah, how angst fades in memory as time marches on.

Here's a little something that's not so angsty that made me a bit misty-eyed.

Simple Words

I love you.

The simplicity in those words

Do no justice.

I love you.

And cannot describe the warmth

That abounds within me.

I love you.

Love the way you hold me tight

Wrap yourself around me

Like you’ll never let me go.

Love the way you tease me

Tell me I’m demanding

When all I want is hugs and kisses

And I know you don’t really mind.

I love you.

Even when you’re impossible.

Even when you’re grumpy.

Even when I can’t help but be

Exasperated.

I love you.

Because you make me laugh and smile

Because you give an inch,

but always let me take a mile.

Because you are my friend

And will never let me down

Because you hate it when I cry

And hate it when I frown.

Because you let me be who I want to

And never let me compromise who I am

For you.

I love you.

Because you know I’m worth it.

Every smile, every frown, every up, every down.

And I love you.

Simply, and because I can.