No, love. You haven’t seen me.
You’ve seen the version of me that loves you.
One that tears up when you don’t meet expectations
One that forgives and forgets a hundred mistakes
One that never returns the rude remarks
And one that has love left in her heart to still shower.
No, love. You haven’t seen the real me.
Not one that observes and remembers every detail.
Not one that can hold you a mirror with reflections so ugly you’d flinch.
Not one that, when the love runs out, can spit on wounds she tried to heal.
Not one that you’ll ever wince at the thought of how she left.
No, love. You wouldn’t want to see me.
Keep it where it feels good to you being rude and mean.
Keep it at an arm’s length when she gets difficult.
Keep it where she can’t reach your wounds you not so successfully hide.
Keep it where your ego remains safe.
Keep the version of me that loves you.
‘cz no, you couldn’t take seeing me.