An idea of me

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.