I love you
like I love very few.
There are moments when you irritate me,
but I’m sure
I do the same to you.
There are moments
when I hate you.
Despise you.
Wonder why people push you on me.
Question why I would want you.
You cry.
Scream.
Whine.
Complain.
Irritate me.
Exhaust me.
Drain me.
You make me hate you.
You want connection.
A bond.
I can give you that,
but not when you’re so close.
When you’re so easy to break.
When I know
the messed up world
will hurt you.
Destroy you.
When I know
I’ll hurt you.
Unintentionally,
but I’ll hurt you.
When I know
I can’t protect you.
It’s implied I’m wrong.
They say
having you is a beautiful act.
A blessing.
Some kind of miracle.
For them, maybe,
but while I love you,
I don’t want you close.
I want to scratch at their eyes,
force them to see.
Look! I want to scream.
Look what others have done.
What you want to force on someone else.
On me.
Look!
That’s what they do to me.
Over
and over
and over.
The reasons they give me
are selfish at best.
They want to force a burden on you,
one I don’t think you should have.
I’m meant to love you,
not be selfish
and expect things
you may not be willing to give.
I don’t scream.
I explain.
Give an alternative,
only to be told
it’s not a good one.
That having you
is the best way.
But I don’t want you.
You are selfish
and ask for too much.
You want things
I’m not willing to give you.
Isn’t it better then
if I don’t have you?
If I love you
from a distance?
If I give you
only what I’m willing to?
Would you not be happier?
I would be.
I want my freedom
and you would deny it to me.
Others might say I’m selfish.
I’m happy to admit I am.
I’m selfish
because I want what’s mine.
What I deserve.
What you would deny,
but they’re selfish, too.
For pushing you on me,
but to me,
you might just be
the most selfish one of all.
