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When I Gaze Upon Your Beauty
When I gaze upon your beauty,
my brain immediately panics—
it wants to stare respectfully
but also trips over its own manners.
I want to see you, observe you,
study you like fine art,
but then I remember,
Dude… don’t be weird. Don’t overdo your part.
Don’t say something awkward.
Don’t drift too far off-script.
Don’t stand there like a sad clown
who forgot his punchlines mid-quip.
She said, brilliance moves her more than beauty ever could.
Did you know I speak multiple languages—
not fluently,
but still more than I should?
She said it’s intellect that paves the way to her heart.
So I offer my thoughts before my hands,
pen on paper doing a sacred little dance.
When I’m blessed with her presence, I fall in a trance—
trying to be charming instead of just awkward and tense.
I sit and I think… maybe a little too much,
because my brain treats hope like a mystery novel.
I see tiny signs we might have things in common,
then immediately over-analyze the footnotes.
Is it something? Is it nothing?
Is it just my imagination on espresso?
Either way, my heart keeps quietly saying,
“Hey… I kinda hope it’s a yes though.”
I’ve got all these thoughts and goofy little dreams,
all bumping around in my head,
but really I just wish you’d stand by me
and laugh at the same dumb things I do.
Together we’d shine—
not in a dramatic movie-montage way,
but in that low-key, two-weird-people
enjoying each other kind of way.
..
.