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?