not that asianboy again

I can’t sing. I can’t play the guitar, and I definitely can’t dance. I can’t drive, or cook. And I’m not that great at voicing my mind. But I can write. If that’s the only thing I’m good at, then I’ll write you a dozen poems about how your feet smell and how your eyes are like the stars in the night sky. I’ll write about your beauty and how your imperfections make you even more perfect