I don't like myself, I don't understand I can't , for how with skin so fine and fray, to run my fingers across your body tickling as you wriggle about, or eyes blue no green I can't decide that glare into the sunset orange or whatever I'm not good with colours exposing old souls trapped in young eyes. or thumbs to hold such nice things to grab apples so smooth or grip another's shirt in an embrace, tangle hands through streets and alleys smells of blossoms or dills rather settle for smells of clean folded laundry, or earth in contact with rain best of all the shape and curves, scars to tie ourselves to distant memories or the build of broad shoulders and widened chests sight to behold, hair that's curly black and brown with smidges of white as days go by to grip during those times, filled sweat on the edges, hands so soft to draw on letters of love and write down numbers of new found crushes and best of all hold hands to dance in the rain to the rhythm as the drops fall to the ground. don't take away what makes you mundane keep that just for you or at least for me please?