Your couch has gone from
Mysterious to
Comfortable, quickly to
Inviting, and then
Peaceful,
Becoming necessary and
Right before my eyes it changes to
Lusting, then a chance of
Loving, and back to lusting, until
Another wide turn to the start:
Mysterious.
But it never goes back to
Comfortable again, it is
Frightening, another change
To inevitable,
Controlling to
Addicting, and soon
I am thinking in
Circles, back to lusting,
But the couch has stayed
The same, and
It is only me who is seeing things
Differently

Take it back, please
I do not want
Your gift anymore because
It lives in my sheets
Making it hard to sleep
Every night
I am thinking
About him
And whether or
Not
My gift hides in his
Sheets, or
If it is tucked
Away in a closet
Of embarrassing laundry
His mother will never
Clean

I feel like crying when someone asks me to talk about myself
And I can only try to explain why
But self reflection tends to only see the bad things
I do not fit in with everyone else like I am expected too
Maybe I'm being dramatic, but I am constantly feeling like
Something is wrong with me, something has been off since I was born
And I am just finding out about it now

This is why I push away people
As quickly as I push away my meals
And why even now I sit here in tears typing away at a ****** poem
Or why scars cover my thighs and baggy clothes hide my figure
Why everyone I had known since a child slowly forced me out of their lives

So when someone asks me to talk about myself
These things are what come to mind, but
Overwhelmed with a feeling a failure, I still manage to sell a shy smile
And say something simple like:
"I like to sail and run cross country"
Because that's what they want to hear,
And I will wait until I meet another person that will ask, and maybe
I'll fork up the courage to spill everything out,
But probably not, I feel pretend