You Don't Know Who I Am

You didn’t want me.

You didn’t even say goodbye.
You just politely faded away.

Maybe I was too young for you.
Or perhaps too old?

I looked wholesome,
But you preferred sultry?

Did we argue too much?
Yes, that must be it.
Or was I so boring I wasn’t even
worth arguing with?

You didn’t explain.
You were just finished.

But I didn’t want to be
finished with you.
I ached for you.
I wanted one more touch,
One more word,
Just … more.

Maybe you knew me too well.
You thought I wasn’t your type.
You preferred a stranger.

So, I became one.

I told you what you wanted to hear.
Sometimes it was the truth.
Sometimes a half truth.
Sometimes a flat out lie.

You liked me this way.
You wanted more.

I was the age you wanted.
I looked the way you wanted.
I became as
undemanding, mysterious,
fascinating and sexy as you wanted.

I let you do anything you wanted with me
and I loved all of it.
You took me places I’d never been.

Your mind connected with my mind,
Your heart with my heart,
Your soul with my soul.
I was deep inside you
while you thrust deep inside me.

But now what?
Did I really get what I wanted?
Now you want me,
But you don’t know who I am.