How does it feel knowing that I’m going to turn you into a poem?

I know
I know you live in fear
A different kind to mine but a fear nonetheless
You’re scared that I’ll turn you into a story
That portrays you as anything other than
Sublime, anything other than the best.
I worry that the words to do you justice
Simply don’t exist,
But I’ll try regardless, for the panic in your eyes
Is priceless.
But at the moment your fear is futile
For you are much too good, too patient, too kind
So you’ll have to be crueller to me
To make your worries worthwhile–
I only immortalise the bad guys,
And the way that you’re carrying on
You’ll never make it into a story of mine.
Be nasty to me, challenge me, hurt me,
So that I can prove that your anxiety
Is not unnecessary,
So that I may remember you
In the dark, in old scars, on a page
Long after I’ve forgotten
The details of your perfect face.


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