Those Things You Call A Poem

The Void Inside Me

I have never been enough to be loved.

Not pretty enough to be stared at across the room in wonder,
Not interesting enough to have someone listen as I talk,
Not talented enough to have someone watch me as I paint, or draw, or sing.

I crave it,
Love,
As I watch everyone around me,
Fall in love,
Fall out of love,
Come whole in love,
Fall apart because of it.
And try as I might to despise it,
I know I want it too.
I want someone's devotion,
I want someone's warmth,
I want someone's unfaltering gaze upon my person,
I want it,
Love.

And I am afraid I might never experience it,
Not in this lifetime,
Or to experience it only too late,
Or to only experience half of it,
Or to only experience the first or last of it,

I am quite odd you see,
It always seems as if I am missing,
That part of me that contains love,
Because in me,
It is either anger or nothing at all
Sometimes I am nothing at all

And so I search for it,
Love,
That I might finally,
Maybe,
Have something other than this abyss inside me,

But I'm not enough,
To be loved by someone,
For someone,
I am not enough,
And maybe,
That is all I will ever will be.