Oh, to be loved,
To be wanted,
A feeling foreign to me.

To be chosen,
Not out of convenience,
But because they wanted me.

I fear such a day will never come.

For I would choose you
Without hesitation,
But I cannot believe
You’d ever do the same for me.

I write, I ponder,
Dreaming of what we could be.
All the greatness we might achieve,
If only you could choose me too.

But instead,
I wait.
I listen.
Hoping for a moment
When you’ll let me in.

To love me too.

Yet, the day won’t come.
For no one has chosen me,
Not the woman who birthed me,
Nor the father who left me.

How could you love me?

And even if you did,
Wouldn’t there be doubt in your heart?
That something better exists,
Something more
Than what I could offer you?

My love, endless, unconditional…
Would never be enough.

Not compared to the woman who birthed you.

So, I walk alone,
Holding my own hand,
Clutching my own pens,
Piercing my heart with the emptiness
You were supposed to fill.

Instead, I spilled
All of me into you,
Leaving nothing for myself.