I Never Was Great With Words

I never was great with words,

tripping over my tongue with every clumsy breath.

Yet you listened as though I was a jazz singer,

even when instead of blues, I was singing my grocery list.

No, I was never good with words,

better with sweeping paintbrushes and scratching graphite.

Yet I couldn't ever capture your essence just right,

though I'd try as long as you let me.

I have never been good with words,

more content to listen.

a wishing well for you to drop your problems into like coins,

in hopes that if I tried hard enough I could turn them to magic,

to miracles.

I am still not good with words,

though I often don't try to be anymore.

What good will it do when no one is willing to listen?

I will never be good with words,

and all you've read has meant nothing,

and will probably never mean anything.

But still, you have been my wishing well

if only for a moment.

Until you think you need me again.

When all you really need is a wishing well.