If You Knew Me

You would hate me.
You would be disgusted.
You would pity me,
feel my shame, disdain me.
You could not love me…
not even like me…
if you knew me.
Nobody wants to be my friend.
No one covets my presence.
You may admire those things I do well
but they’re not important
in the grand scheme of things.
I’ll stay here, alone.
Alone with my food,
with my comfort,
with my self-loathing
stuffing my face to hide the me
that I’m convinced you have to see.
If you knew the me I think you know
the love and acceptance you aver
for me would be mythical, nonexistent,
impossible.
But that’s not what I see in your face.
How can I learn to think as much of me
as you do as soon as we meet?
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