I am afraid that people only ever like the
idea of me.
and once they get to know it, they start to imagine who to better see.
Then start seeing other people — they go off to explore.
they meet me but aren’t satisfied.
…
And then leave in the pursuit of something more…
It’s always happened.
Like watching night turn to day —
It has gotten almost too predictable.
I can even quote what they are going to say.
Something about how nice I am,
the classic:
“you deserve better it’s true”
Something about:
“How lucky anyone would be to have somebody like you”
…
and yet I get this sudden feeling
A horrible gut reaction, deja vu—
“I think we would be better off as friends”
That one’s a classic tried and true —
And for a second I hate myself
I dissect everything I could have ever done wrong and for a minute I replay their words like my new least favorite song…
then I start to think about it…
I write poetry for fun
I cry at sappy books and cheers at the sun.
anyone would be lucky …
I love in UPPER CASE in bold.
I’m the type to offer a blanket if I see that you are cold.
For a second I hate myself
But I love the way that I cook,
I found the recipes that you liked — I was gonna group them in a book I delete the list from my phone.
All the favorite things, your favorite candy, the silly videos, I try to forget and rip out the thought of how you looked at me in the car and told me my eyes reminded you of the forest when it rains.
I don’t think I was made for flings —
I’m afraid that people only like the idea of me
instead of trying to love the person I’ve worked so hard to … be.