My desire to know you runs deep, but I don’t want to share this broken person with you. I care too much to introduce you to the bitterness that lies within my kiss. There is no stability in my hugs and falsehood reside in my words. My generous gaze is comparative and my open honest opinions have hidden notes of judgment. Everyone I love, I hurt. I perpetuate the hurt I was dealt and couple with my insecurities, I am lost in my flaws. I make choices based on experience. I want to keep my promises. I want to plan the future. I want to create a world with you; get lost in a world of our creation.
But self-doubt takes over, and self-worth tries to figure out, why me? Of all the people to love, why would you choose to love me? Self-image points out how imperfect and inadequate I am. Self-hate can’t stand most things about me and urges me to be different. Self-pity reminds me of the past I try to forget and the bad things that have transpired. It cripples me with all the hate I was given, all the lies I accepted, and all those who helped in breaking my heart. Self-deprecating is my cynical jester. The self I need the most, self-esteem, is unaccounted for.
I am trying to learn to love me through the reflections from your perspective. I am trying to get what you see, in me. How do you believe that my eyes are gentle when they are a gateway to my hell? How do my hollow jokes evoke your hearty laughs? How does the uncertainty of holding hands, make you blush? How can a night in my quarters make you cum? I am trying to put the piece of me together while we piece together us. I’m filled with a lot of toxic energy because I am mad as hell. Mad no one was there, mad that no one told me, mad that I wasn’t smart enough to figure it out, mad that I wasn’t worth the second thought, mad that they didn’t see the special, you see. So everything that you are will always be clouded by past experiences. Your beauty will never be good enough. Your mind will only ever be entertainment to me. Your spirit will never get that deep. Your sex can never be intimacy for me.
I am numb. I want you, but you deserve more than a broken me.
Please, I beg of you. Do not fall victim to my religion. Don’t dote on my charming words. Don’t let my intellect envelope you or my forbidden smells tempt you. My universal tongue traps the ones I love and the broken me breaks the hearts of these lovers. How can I truly love you when I don’t love the broken pieces of myself?
