Falling for the Whole of Me

If I made ends meet by meeting millions of millionaires in meetings galore, would you care to explore my heart? If I made up my mind to resign, and spend my time at a diner, behind the scenes, would you find a way to care about me? If I took up poetry, and wrote hundreds of stories, told in metaphor, with rhyme and prosody, creating irony in euphony, depicting pictures no eye can see, neither mind comprehend without a beating heart, would yours skip a beat? Would you see the beauty that breathes beyond ink and paper? Would you see its creator and stupor in thought? Would you suffocate in the fog that envelopes body and mind, unable to find the words to tell the story of your sentiment? Would it spark a desire to explore and admire my entire being- every minor detail? To be real, do you even know me at all, or just the stale version that pales in comparison to the whole? I want you to know the whole of me, and want to hold me for it.