For all the times I have wanted to write something beautiful, but only thought of you

There are lines drawn in the sand that spell out
All the secrets I wanted to say but never did
Letters so big you can see them from space
And there are men that sit in space stations
That tell their children of all the things
I have wanted to say.
They tell tales that will one day become lore
Like the wolf in grandmother’s clothing
And the treacle jug that never stopped pouring.

I want to tell you that you are so important
That there are birds on my street that only sing when they know you’re around
That there is a special season made up just for you,
One with brisk mornings and warm nights and sometimes storms
You are not as small as you think you are
So be bigger, darling.
Because these oceans have made a habit of parting for you and
The spacemen and their children think you are
Made up of all the magic in the world
And they love you for it.

And the moon, oh god, she wants to tell you of all the beautiful things
I have written
All the stories that make you magic
But they have not the voices, nor the means to reach you
Instead, these satellites, they look to me
But all I can give you is the grazes on my knees and the bruises on my arms
All the love of a five year old.
So I try to give you a wet willie
Licking my fingers with all the truths I wanted to stick in your ears
But you squirm away

You see, I want you to believe that you can do anything
Like those spacemen that still have glow in the dark stars above their beds
Because those dreams are meant to be taken seriously.
And there is graffiti etched into the pavements
That tells of how big your heart is
And how wide your hands are
How much the world just wants to give you everything
And how blind you must be to not see it.