Who did you want me to be?
Am I her?
Or is it the one on the screen,
Maybe even someone we see every day?
I know you look with disdain on
Questions such as these.
I know a past you didn’t see
Punishes the present most unfairly.
But, there is this clawing creature
Writhing deep inside of me
That tugs mercilessly for the
Namely, did the promised package
Disappoint upon opening?
Did I prove unpretty in the unflattering morning ?
Unsexy in the tiredness of night?
Unreliable in too many ways?
Not as tough or adventurous as the
Women of ambition
You surreptiously admire
Did I prove more bitter to the taste
Than your liking?
Do my sagging social butterfly wings
Do you see in me a
A nagging obligation
You feel too responsible to
Or have vain imaginings and
Once again taken over my mind?
For, really, according to outward signs,
You seem devoted,
You seem to even get who I am,
Though I know I irritate you
In the process…
Ah, maybe, it’s best left
Unhealthy as they say it is.
For, I know the creature is mostly
A creation built up in the recesses of time,
Relevant to history, but now with little reason or rhyme…
But, if only I could still the questions in me
And rest my heart completely inside…