I posted this on my poetry blog, blairielouhoopoetry.blogspot.com, but this has more traffic so I thought I'd post it here, too. I'd love your feedback. Enjoy.
-Blair
Not Him
He’s not the type I can bring home for dinner.
He wouldn’t want to come anyway.
He never tells me I’m pretty, but he makes me feel like I am.
I don’t think he’s ever seen my hair done
And make up has usually settled into the deep, sleep deprived circles under my eyes
By the time he sees me.
He’s never mentioned it ones.
It’s been years since he’s seen me in real clothes
And even longer since he’s seen me in daylight,
Unless you count a hazy, 5am glow as daylight.
He doesn’t like to cuddle, but he’ll hug me tightly
And he’ll hold my hand, but not in public.
Never in public.
Which doesn’t matter since we’re never in public together.
He’s never given me any kind of gift or written me anything.
Meanwhile, I’ve written him countless letters and made him multiple gifts.
I rarely get so much as a “thank you”.
I have to pry and push for compliments and real words.
I’m convinced that if he had it his way, we would never speak.
I like when he talks, though. About anything.
Sometimes, if I’m really quiet, he’ll just talk and talk about real things
And I’ll just sit and listen intently until he realizes what’s happening
And pulls back.
He always pulls back.
Most of the time he pretends I don’t exist.
He’s moodier than most girls I know.
You never know how you’re going to catch him,
But I continuously try.
Why do I try?
He’s nothing I want.
He’s nothing I like.
I don’t know him anymore.
He never knew me.
But I try,
I continuously try,
And I’m done trying.
