I've decided that I'm sick
of *******

specifically
the kind with
long(ish)
scruffy(ish)
blond(ish)
hair and blueblue eyes
and a face
that makes my heart rise up
and beat in my throat
and my words catch
and stumble over themselves

because it's dawned on me that
being beautiful is not enough
and though some would argue
that he's not beautiful at all
sometimes I agree
sometimes not

like the day his braces came off and
suddenly I couldn't look
anywhere but his lips
and I couldn't think of anything but
french kissing
even though I've never really
kissed anyone
outside my head

or the day we were running
the worst hill
the hill of hills
over and over and over
and I noticed that
he has this splotch
below his ribs
which is darker than his skin
a birthmark
which somehow made my lips
curl in a small smile to myself
an imperfection within perfection
is perfection
in a way

but then he opens his mouth
and ruins it
and I'm sick of being disappointed
(although it's my fault too)

and so with that
I say
I'm sick of *******
because

kindness is striking
when you're used to loving someone
who isn't kind

when you've accepted
the carelessness
as if nothing matters
as if your heart doesn't matter  
as if you won't determine your own self worth
upon his interaction with you
you forget

but I'm done with that

this is not the end
but it is the beginning of it
and I'm glad because
I think it's best
for us both

and who knows
maybe someday
he'll figure out
how to be
something other than *******