Of Being Loved
Somehow the aching work to enthuse, to impress, to win over
Ends in a showboating mess of half acquainted neighbors
“Your friends with everybody” rings in my head as though she said “everyone thinks your funny but nobody would rely on you
Confide in you
Stand up for you”
I somehow still believe the narrative that if I change my environment again I can start over
And that things will be different
That building relationships takes luck and if you mess up the first time you have to begin with a tabula rasa because you aren’t flawed or socially inept no it’s always something else
Unlucky though because there have been plenty of trials
And the hypothesis is incorrect.
Me, the control, has not changed
And every variable has been unsuccessful in making me anything more than well liked.
In conclusion,
I am flawed
I am socially inept
I am petrified at the idea of living much longer without love
And I know i know i know I am loved but I am
woman/human/girl/solid/liquid/gas
And
I ask for a love that feels like learning something new
I ask for a love that lays its arm on my waist in the middle of the night
I ask for a love that lets me shimmy and shout and squirm
I ask for a love that mustn't need to last forever but long enough to teach me that I am capable
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