He does not see me.
He does not see the good in me.
He does not see my pain.
He does not see my sad or
see my happy.
I'm good to him.
I'm kind, even when he's cruel.
I see him.
I see his hurt, his struggles, his needs. And when I see, I serve.
He throws me away.
I stand before him, handing him my best, and he crumples it up, with disgust on his face and tells me it is not good enough.
I hang my head and turn away.
Then, he'll let just enough time pass, to tell me he loves me and needs me.
I need to be needed, and no one else wants me.
So I stay, hurt, sad and alone.
He needs me.
An excerpt from an email I sent
It's an unintentional poem