Doll-Faced

Doll-Faced

Do not tell me you love me,

                I cannot bear to hear it

It is a lie; a malicious lie,

                For it is not honest and is stagnant as murky water

Do not call me perfect,

                Ah, perfection,

What a cruel, cliche!

                                To be perfect – is not achievable

All clay is soft and malleable

                With great promise

And all porcelain is at some point finished

                But it is not perfect,

                                It breaks,

                                                It shatters.

I am no porcelain doll

                Nor was I made to sit pretty in a cabinet collecting dust

I was born with great promise,

                But never perfect

Perfect is a sunny day with cool breezes

                With joyful company and happy memory

                                It is a kite in blue skies sailing on the fresh wind

Rather,

                Tell me your fears

                                Tell me you know my flaws

                                                Do not attempt to pick up shattered porcelain with the intent to fix

                                                                But rather: –

Accept.

                And I will recover.

I can’t say I love you

I can’t say I love you

I can’t say I love you,

Because the words are simply not enough

“I love you” does not describe the comfort of your presence

Or the melodic drum of your steady beating heart

“I love you” does not define how safe and warm I feel around you

Nor does it adequately reflect the shape of your fingers

Entwined in mine

Or the way when I look down,

I can’t distinguish which ones are yours or which are mine

I love you cannot eloquently describe your beautiful blue eyes

Like shining shooting stars dipped in pure white marble

Illuminated in those kind framed eyes, a galaxy just for me

I cannot say I love you because it does not represent the sweet-smelling skin you always have,

Or the way your blonde curled hair frames your face

I can’t say I love you because of how its been misunderstood; used and abused

As a possession, restriction used to shame and confine

I cannot say I love you because it is not an adequate ‘thank you’

For always having my favourite drink in the fridge

Or the way you calm the clutter and confusion with your gentle-whispered words

It does not explain how, when I see you, I am instantly warmed as if you were the sun,

Or how your arms are like fluffy home-made quilts, providing comfort

Or the way you hug me, letting me that everything will be okay

I love you does not depict how happy you make me,

Or how hard you make me laugh

Or sketch the truth about finding my sanctuary in your heart

It does not truly illuminate the way I no longer fear the dark when I am with you

Or how I no longer fear closing my eyes to dream

“I love you” cannot illustrate the respect I have for you

Or how grateful I am for you and your existence

I cannot say I love you; because I love you too much