poetry | meaning

i do not think i was meant to be loved like this.

i am meant to be loved by children

surrounded by kids sitting cross-cross-applesauce on the colorful mats i delicately placed during the summer. they listen intently to the storybook, and i feel their warmth radiating.

i am meant to be loved by customers, those who order the same coffee and muffin every morning at precisely 7:15am. they come in and smile at me, they tell me their order, and i slide it across the counter like it wasn’t prepared the second i saw their shadow in the doorway.

i was meant to be loved by my adoring cats. they stare up at me, meowing and crying for breakfast. i pick them up and give them kisses as i crack open the can, feeling a desperate heartbeat behind an otherwise empty mind.

i was meant to be loved by my parents, who admittedly didn’t do a great job at fulfilling their role when i needed it most. they call every sunday and each time i let it ring for just a second longer. we only talk for ten minutes before we run out of things to say to each other, and then i hear my mother smile and say goodbye. she tells me she loves me, and i hang up the phone before i feel obliged to say it back.

i was meant to be loved by the needy. i offer them my heart and soul; i give my money to the homeless women near a bus stop i frequent, she asks me for change to get a coffee. even though i struggle to feed myself every morning, i dig out change from my bag. i buy gifts for my friends every chance i get, desperate to see them crack a smile. when they need money, i oblige. when they need a favor, im at their side. i cut off my hands for them, wrapping them gently with tissue paper and sealing the package with a knot. i deliver it personally and apologize for the bloodstains on the ribbon.

i was not meant to be loved by you. the ambiguous you, someone i have yet to meet or even imagine. i was not meant to feel your touch on my waist, a lingering finger pulling away just a moment too late. my hands were not meant to grasp yours, i was not created for this.

i could try, certainly. i could stumble forward on our walk through the parking lot as you take me home. i can fumble with my keys as i unlock my door, lead you inside, and consequently struggle to take off my shoes. the zipper broke last week, and my attempt to fix it quickly fell off.

you can kiss me, run your hands through my hair, and whisper beautiful things to me. i can try to return the favor, but my nails are just a little too long and i can’t help but scratch your cheek. you say it’s okay, you smile as the blood dots your cheek. i can only avoid your eyes and wipe it away, pretending like the blood on my thumb doesn’t make me feel like it’s melting my skin.

my teeth are too sharp, if that’s okay with you. it hurts, apparently, and i wouldn’t really understand. your body is different from mine in a way that makes me seethe with jealousy when you’re not around. my skin bubbles in anger and i have to move the pot to a different burner before it boils over.

i can try to go further with you. i can take off my clothes and pretend like im not about to cry from embarrassment when your eyes dart to my body riddled with acne and scars and ingrown hairs that are becoming inflamed. i can let you put your hands on me, but ill always have to stop you before you get too low. i’m not ready, ill whisper, and you will only be able to nod and lean in for a kiss. i’ll smile into it, feeling for a moment that maybe you’re okay with me, and suddenly the world isn’t so bad.

later, we can watch a movie on the couch. you can tell me about your day, and i can smile and nod and pretend like i want to be there. you can tell me you love me - and everything in my body is screaming, but i can only respond with a kiss. it’s better than nothing, i think, and you don’t seem to mind.

eventually you will begin to understand that i was not meant for this, for you. i was not meant to stare deeply in your eyes and tell you how much i adore you. eye contact makes me uncomfortable - and i’d never be able to lie so carelessly.

everything in my body is screaming. once again, you can tell me you love me. it’s only a text this time, but that somehow makes it worse. my fingers dig at my palms and tear my skin to shreds. i hit bone eventually and my nerves start to disconnect. i’m no longer able to type a response, let alone hit send.

while i sit there, staring at the screen, i think of everything i want in life. i want to be loved, i know it, so what is so horrible about me that i don’t want to love someone back? i cannot turn off my phone - my hands are no longer usable and i turned off the auto-sleep ages ago. i can only stare at the message until my battery drains and succumbs to an electronic death.

i was meant to be loved, but not by an individual. even if i crave it so badly, deep enough in my soul that it claws at my skin, i cannot allow it.

it would be so cruel to allow you to love me. my teeth are too sharp, and i cannot tell a lie. you will tell me you love my smile, my laugh, the way i part my hair when it’s windy outside. you will tell me you love me, and i will believe you. i will not say anything back, it would be cruel to lie.

you were made to be loved, after all.