love out the door,
like many before.
A beat too pure to stay near.
His love like a dove,
so pertinant and above any other you've seen.
but your hearts just so cruel, cold, and unkind.
So I don't think we'd ever meet.
but that perfect little beat seems never to cease in the drumming of my inconsistent mind.
The inconsistence of the teenage mind.
Rattling, tattling, on everything in site.
What a beautiful mind i've met,
the one without a care or a fret.
But yet my mind cannot cease to wonder,
why this rattling and tattling is so genuinely dead.
Why their minds have yet to speak
a word or a peep.
So bring me to my fathers child and you have found me.
A site for the soaring eyes to see,
is a beautiful, brave, battling, boring, teenage me.
