I know I am
self depricating
and sad and angry,
and all the things that
make it impossible
to love me.
But, you do,
anyway. 

I know I can be
intrusive
and loud
and too big
in our small home. 

I wish my anger and
bitterness
wasn’t so palpable.
But it is,
and you love me,
anyway. 

You are like
silk,
and you feel
so good
but if you pulled
at all,
you would slip through
my fingers
because I can’t wrap my hands
around you.