my mind can only contrive happy endings
and I've had to redefine what love means
I always knew I was trying to prove something
to someone, that I was interesting enough and worthy
of being loved, and someone told me I was
and then suddenly I wasn't, and then I searched about
for my own identity and I projected into the world
who I was, and my life became a letter addressed,
"Dear you," and I looked at someone elses' love
for proof that it existed and some kind of definition
to tell me what it was and that it wasn't all in vain
but I swear I didn't waste my time because I had found
that I was worth something but maybe not what I thought
I guess price is different depending on the buyer
and in the auction for my heart, some prices were too high
but it's alright, (and I have to keep telling myself it's alright)
and this is the first honest poem I've written in months
even though every other aspect of my life has been honest
or has it? As I carefully arranged my sayings and laughter
to be something I thought that was worth loving
I could not escape reality, the reality that I am who I am
and that no matter what happens to make me not want
to be me anymore, I am still me, and maybe I'm worth loving
right where I am and who I am. I'm not sure, though.
I guess that will come with time.