i get stuck
like a needle
in a worn out groove
like a plastic bag
in a tree

my brain spins
like a hamster
on a wheel
or a tire
on the ice

the same words
no matter how written
do not capture
the scene
in my mind

i try
to lay them
across the aether
to paint with feeble hands
faulty brush strokes

an homage
a series of letters
all trying
to define
the undefined

so unhappy
with the way they sit
half of half of half
of what i see
inside

she is
my sistine chapel
yet
i am no
michelangelo

i doodle
in the margins
of the epic
that she effortlessly
embodies

but the fool
knows not
when to stop
so i will continue
to try

perhaps one day
the words
will ring true
just enough
for her to see

me