Her Type

My insecurities get in the way of everything. I wish I was her type.

I'm not her type

and I know it,

but do you want to know

what's the worst?

Even when she is in my arms,

my insecurities come first.

It's like my mind

is betraying me.

It constantly picks a fight

and when I tell myself

I'm crazy,

it still keeps me up at night.

Maybe if I was prettier

I could convince her to stay.

Perhaps if I was skinnier

she wouldn't keep

her feelings at bay.

Or maybe it's my fault.

Maybe I pushed too hard.

I know I can come off strong, but

I just wanted her to

let down her guard.

She gave me back my T-shirt,

the one I let her wear

and now all I smell is loneliness

where I used to smell her hair.

Reviews

[Draven_Writes]

I like the amount of emotion that you wanted to bring out. It came off strong, but subtle too. This is one of those poems where everyone can relate too, but not everyone takes it to heart. I did and I think that this was a struggle to write. You wrote it very well. Great Job.

[Blogger]

This is well done. Nicely ended too. I like the T shirt part as well.

[Rachel Anderson]

Thank you :)

[Baby Ricochet]

The last two lines are a killer. What I mean is great ending. Good work Rachel.

[Rachel Anderson]

Oh yay! Thank you, Ricochet. :)

[Inda]

This is fantastic! A great journey that anyone can identify with, the end is fantastically sad and tragic, i love it!

[Rachel Anderson]

So glad you like it! :)