I (still) HATE "I LOVE-YOU"

My mind is like an unfinished book; read and unread. By me even.
Especially.

Quite frankly -I don’t know how to love.

Not just to you. Or maybe just you.

So I take the oft repeated paths:
I send you poems. You don’t understand them.
I cook your favorite meal. You never tell me how bad it is.
I watch while you sleep. You don’t look any good.
I call you when I don’t want to talk. You never pick the calls.
I hate it when I lie. You love it when I do.
I tell you I love you. You believe me. I don’t.
So I stop being me. And start to be someone else.
I end up being none of us wanted.