I tried my best, I really did.

I used all the definitions in the book.

To try and make you understand the scribbles in my head.

For I keep shouting that my art is meaningless; it holds no value in its tears.

You only explore my mind implicitly, never listening to my words.

I can see it in your eyes. 

But you can't see it in mine.

I need validation, a lover to hold my brain gently even with calloused hands.

I don't miss you, truly, for I am occupied by the betrayll of kin.

I miss you, truly, but without your touch I am still complete.