As much as I want to feel loved,
I don’t think I am lovable.
I fall too fast and always, always end up
Laying on the concrete with
Blood in my hair.
I have flaws, everyone does, but I’m always
Afraid that you won’t love me, not the way
I need you to. I’m terrified, like a cat in a
Thunderstorm, that someone will
Put up with me for a while
Then leave.
And I’ll be left to wash the rust out of my
Hair and wipe the black and grey from under
My eyes.