on proving my unlovability

“would you still love me if i was a worm?” i know better than to ask. “do you even love me now, as i stand here, human & bare & all yours?” but i know better than to ask. so instead, i watch you fumble over your hands over my body over the keys to your apartment, like you’re never quite sure if you should invite me in or not. & i pretend to not notice your hesitation or apprehension as you plead with my frail frame. you drop my hand on the subway & i want to plead with your knuckles to just hold on a bit longer, please, for me. but i know better than to ask. & when you took back the sunday mornings, just for you, i knew better than to ask if you were done with your plate. but even then, even still, even with the vacancy swelling, i hadn’t given enough. so i folded some more & some more & some more, trying to be the tiniest paper crane i could. trying to be the prettiest bird with the shiniest feathers. trying to fit in your museum. but you kept me in your pocket, no one the wiser. in the darkness, i wilted, but covered myself in the brightest orange paint i could find. i tore, but i taped the wings back together so you’d never know. i eroded, but you never even noticed. i’d never get it right. no matter how small i folded or how sparkly the paint or how good the tape job because i was never the art you curated for your gallery, just the only piece you could afford. it was never a question of worth. or value. but of ability. my hypothesis holds strong, & yours, not so much. i’ll stick to what’s practical & you, to the arts. & as the time between us whittled down & my hair began growing back, i could not finish the book you lent me. i still haven’t finished it. & did you know that every time the door closed behind you, i collapsed to the floor like the sudden onset of rain, breathless? did you ever even feel my absence? did you ever even love me? but i know better than to ask.