I have to wonder sometimes
what is so wrong with me
that my desire to
love and to be loved
is so unreasonable,
so unattainable.
Am I so broken that the
heart I have shown you is
so repulsive, unwantable,
that you dare not even touch it?
As if my scars were contagious.
Or you might be associated with my kind:
The desperate feelers who reach and grasp
like bodies in the Styx,
just wanting to be reached back for.
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