I don’t know how to love.
I commiserate, perhaps, care too much, and give as much as my health could afford.
Nobody would notice or miss, however, if I disappeared today.
People claim to know me, who I am, and what they never understand.
I lie next to someone, some body, alone.
Do I hear my cry?
Do I defend my needs?
Do I embrace the person that I am?
I don’t know how to love … myself.