Love me for me
No, do not tell me that.
Do not pity the opening of my veins for others to see.
Do not wipe the burnt-rubber smell
of my failed juices.
Love me for my death
That strokes me with its caterpillar true legs and prolegs.
Love me for my disquiet
That grasps me with its cuttlefish tentacles.
Yes, sometimes I chat with the early morning
And with dawn swapping clothes with dusk.
Sometimes I laugh at the moon
Yawning at the end of its duty.
You may have written my rule manual
And then pitied my obligations.
You may have set a stage for me;
But I will not live out that role.
Do not look at me like that –
I will screw up; I will fall down.
I am not that person you think I am.
Do not love me for her.