Too much.

always.

Too much.

                For the men who are filled

with empty voids.

        With a lack of desire for me,

even though I reach toward them.

Giving,

too much giving.

Why am I always giving?

There's that look.

        Is that all it takes now?

Too keep me here,

Hoping?

                        I listen too well

                                To all the things you have told me.

                                        And I know you long for obsession,

                                 For something that fills.

And for some reason,

it's not me.

I can't fill it.

Even with all my words,

And kindness,

And gifts.

I'm here,

Waiting.

Incredible,

Radiant,

Talented,

Strong,

and still,

Not enough.