Fucking Love

I have realized,
Much to my dismay,
That I am so
Broken
That I suck
At finding
Men
To fuck
Who are
Worthy of
Or available for
Anything more than
Fucking.

I tend
To be drawn to
The good looking
The well built
The good hair,
Who are also,
At least in my experience,
The broken,
The emotionally stunted,
The liars,
The cheaters,
The unavailable and
The deviant.

I do enjoy
A bad boy.

But it would be
A pleasant change
To find one
Who knew
How to
Love me.

The problem
With broken men
Is that
When I am
With them
I must
Pretend
That I am
Loved
By them and
My entire
Purpose
Becomes
Healing
What is broken
In them
So they can
Love
What is broken
In me
Which never works
And leaves me
More broken
Than I already was.

I pretended
I was loved
By a broken man
Through twenty three
Years
Of marriage.
I even pretended
For a while
After I began
To see him as
Irreparably broken
And I gave up
Trying to
Fix him and
I gave up
Waiting for him
To want to
Help fix me and
He got bored
Of my brokenness
And he got bored
Of not
Fucking me
And he left.

Before him
I pretended
I was loved
By a broken boy
The first boy
To touch me
Intimately.
The first one
To fuck me.
I let him
Use my body
To heal his.
I hoped
The fucking
Would fill my
Brokenness but
It broke me more
Each time so
I pretended
He loved me
During the fucking.
I pretended
He loved me
Even after
He got bored
Of fucking me
And he left.

I pretended
I was loved
By every boy,
Every man,
In between
My first
And my last
That I allowed
In my bed,
In my body.
I pretended
Even after
I got tired of
Being broken
Again and again
Even after
I got tired of
Letting them
Fuck me and
They left

And now I
Pretend
That the guy
In the supermarket
Or the guy
With the cute dog
Or the guy
Who smiled at me
Or the guy
Who jogs past me
Or the guy who
Held the door and winked
Are all contenders
In the “He could
Be the one who
Loves me”
Contest.

It’s all in my head.
It’s all bullshit.
All fantasy.
They are all
On some level
Broken little boys
That I cannot fix.
I’m sure
They would
Fuck me.
And it might be fun.
And we would
Forget
For a little while
How broken we are
But forgetting
Is different than
Healing and
Different than
Loving and
I want more than
Fucking
I want more than
Forgettable fun.

I’m so fucking
Tired
Of pretending.
So fucking
Tired of my
Brokenness
So fucking
Tired of
Being drawn to
The brokenness
In others.
I just want
Someone
Whose broken edges
Fit with mine.

I just want
Someone who
Sees all of me,
Someone who
Sees deeper than the
Sexy and strong,
Determined and delicious,
Brave and bad
That I pretend
To be.

I just want
Someone who
Loves me
As I am,
Ragged and tired,
Broken and bruised,
Scared and lonely.

I just want
Someone who
Wants to
Know me
Not fix me,
Who isn’t using me
To fix him
And who wants to
Love me
As much as,
Perhaps more than,
He wants
To fuck me.