Misspoke,

Thats what I did.
don't let me paint your perception with my imperfect hand.

Translation can be scrambled
from my heart to my mouth.
My lips make sounds
that my mind has not allowed.

I wish you to know me without error,
deception or the angled mirrors.
Oh, that I could grab you and drag you in,
to all that I contain deep within.

We could walk hand in hand
in the garden of my heart,
We could have true romance,
without the portraying art.

Words are slow vehicals for what the heart means,
so many needed to convey whats inside my brain.

Creating traffic jams inside my mind,
As each one fights to be the first in line.

Words cannot carry the meaning I want them to hold.
My intention is heavy, and no words could be so bold.

So don't listen to me with your ears,
because thats a flawed way for you to hear.
Listen with your heart to mine,
so that there will be no meaning left behind. . .