Head tilted to one side,
Tongue sticking out slightly,
Systematic shredding of an eraser,
Repeated pressing of ‘backspace’,
The need to write something profound,
To impress you with my vast vocabulary,
To appeal to your intellectual sentiments,
To make you like me, and talk to me once more,
I try and try, to think of something grand,
All I know are my childish thoughts,
But a child is what I am at present,
All I can write are pretty verses,
No words of wisdom, no sermons on life,
Would I be good enough for you,
If I handed over,
The simple poem in my hand,
That tells you,
That I love you?