You are good
in so many ways.
I am too, I suppose.
Never did you say or do
anything to make me feel
or think poorly of myself.
But somewhere along the way,
I came to find that in loving you,
and not winning your love in return,
I became unable to love myself.
Each kind gesture,
every smile flashed in my direction,
each gentle pat on the back,
your constantly extended helping hand.
They all made me feel as if I
were nothing more than
a fly, squished against the
bottom of your grey Nike’s.
So if you are so good
in every possible way,
how did loving you
make me hate myself?