I love her.

With every inch of me, since day one.
When her hair is messy.
Uncombed and curly,
Pulled back into a sloppy ponytail
That falls so chaotically across her shoulders.
With several strands pulled out, framing her face.
A cigarette delicately tucked, safely behind her ear.

I love her.
After she wakes up.
Eyes blackened from her obsessive and excessive use of makeup.
With awful breath and resting ***** face,
She is Beautiful.

I love her.
When we stand outside.
And rays of sunshine illuminate her brown eyes,
Turning them into endless vats of amber,
Untouched by man.
Glistening until the end of time.

I love her.
When she is curled into me.
Sleeping deeply and soundly,
Snoring louder than my thoughts,
Shaking and Twitching from whatever goes on in her beautiful subconscious.

I love her.
With no expectations of reciprocation.
I understand I do not fit the criteria due to inevitable reasons.
One day I will, and it will be beautiful.

I love her.
And because of that I will change.
I will become what she needs because if I have her my body does not matter.
She is the one of my dreams.
The one I think about at midday and midnight.
The one my most lovely of poems are of.
The one I have only truly loved.
She does not find me attractive in the way I do her.

But that is okay.
Because I love her.
And one day,
She Will Love Me

Did you ever feel guilty at night for hurting me?