I drink too much and cuss like a sailor and sometimes I smoke and I can be a procrastinator and I’m a blurter and I’m too independent and I’m ADD and OCD and I have too much history and not enough patience and I pop my gum and. . . and. . .
and you look at me as if I’ve lost my mind
(they always look at me as if I’ve lost my mind)
I tilt my head to the side and look at you, quizzically, like I’m the dog and you’re the master
not understanding what you see in me
it’s like you can’t see all the bad stuff
Why don’t you see all the bad stuff?
Because I want you to.
I want you to see it all.
I want to scare you with the bad stuff (because you scare me)
frighten you away from this thing that is me.
Because no one can love this.
You couldn’t possibly.
What’s to love about this?