Cool idea behind this, overall it's nicely done...just needs a bit of touching up here and there, mostly with syllable count and meter - just technical stuff.
Sometimes I wish I could write well,
every word stirring the way I felt.
I wish I could say all the right things,
that would make my lovers heart sing.
God knows I've tried hard to love,
and only because it comes from above.
But somehow I never seem to get it right, (The meter seems off to me, here)
and soft spoken words turn into fights. (Either this line has too few syllables, or the line above it has too many.)
So I run for the paper, and grab a pen,
that in case I forget, I'll write it again.
And the right words pour out, like sweat on a brow,
"she'll understand this time", it boosts my morale. (capitalize "she'll"...and "boosts my morale"? I guess it works, but it seems forced to me for some reason.)
Then I fold up my arms, after all the entries,
only to feel my heart's still empty. (to fix the meter, you need a word between still and empty...I guess you could take out the contraction for hearts and insert an "is" there...?)
So back to my journal, with determination,
because I'm sure there is an explanation.
"Now it seems right, I've got it this time,
where's the envelope to mail this new rhyme?" (one too many syllables...)
And one last examination, before sealing it shut,
always doubting if I've said enough.
Put the stamp on the front, address and all,
then off to the mailbox, that hangs on the wall.
Behind curtains I see the postman came,
"surely this will bring back love again." (again, sentences begin with capitals)
I smile each day waiting for a reply,
but they come and go, and I never know why.
"What's taking so long, I've written so well?"
I think I've said all there is to tell. (need one more syllable)
And months went by,and still no answer, (you switch tenses here, try "months go by"...also the meter is off in this line and the one below, maybe try "And months go by and there still is no answer, so I get the nerve up to call her and ask her")
so I got up the nerve to call and ask her. (same as above, "I get up")
"I love you and miss you, but I'm still not sure,"
So it's back to my pen and searching for words.
Oh how I wish I could say it right,
after all she was, the love of my life.
I never have felt so sure of this,
I knew it all after our first kiss.
And if this sounds a little bit like you,
you know what I mean, you love struck fool.
I can't say for you, but I have no regrets,
what little she gave me, was truly the best.
So until the day they stop making paper,
I'll continue to write these imperfect letters. (letters and paper don't really rhyme...which is inconsistent with the rest of the poem...)
With hope that somehow, I'll find what to say,
write just the right words, just the right way. (need one more syllable..."in just the right way"?)
And one day I know, the mailman will come,
I'll throw on my shoes, break into a run.
At the mailbox I'll pause, with a tear in my eye,
Because I found the right words and my lover replied.
Nicely done!
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