You were never the one who got tests

hung up on the fridge

and you never handled a ball well enough 

to earn a trophy

or attention.

You were never your sister, who had

the good grades and the runner's legs.

Everything you were every passionate about

was scoffed at

and called a phase.

But you actually have so much love that

you can't contain it to one thing;

if you didn't also have so much love for

people and what they think,

you wouldn't care

if you did all of them at once.

This underwater cave runs so deep

and has an abundance of crevasses that

nobody has seen

because they never thought to swim far enough.

And now the man who understood your passions

has a bullet in his brain.

Even before this,

you started to close up your gates

and found yourself an alternate reality,

You had a pen you used to use to write on people's hearts

but you've clicked it up

in fear that you'll run out of ink before anyone decides to write on you.

And the person you want to write on most

hardly even reads anymore.

 

She would speak to you more if she thought

you were interested

And you would speak to her more

if you thought she'd understand.

But when all the other boys tell you that

chasing after girls is the only way you'll

find love,

Your big sister will always be there to hold

your hand, 

And she knows that will never be enough

And these margins will never be wide enough

to fit in all of you

But if by writing in them,

I could help you love yourself just

a little bit more,

then maybe,

that would be enough.