Sorry, my lover.

Guilt

is what I feel everytime

I doubt your capability

to love me wholly.

 

My insecurities make me

display nothing but anger

and obviously that’s enough

to make anyone leave right?

 

Sometimes I feel like it would

just be easier to be bitter,

easier to push my past truths

onto you and convince myself

that you’re just like the rest.

 

But you’re real.

You exude a type of patience

and confidence that is so

overwhelming and leaves me no

choice but to give in.

 

And for that I can not let myself

not let you love me.

And that’s real.

This poem is about: 
Me

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