Remembering

I don't remember the last time, nor do I remember the first time,
That anyone decided just to be nice to me,
To treat me like a 'princess',
To woo me off my feet,
To make me feel special.

I don't remember ever being bought chocolates, just because someone could.
I don't remember ever being surprised with flowers, just because someone cared.
I don't remember ever being cooked breakfast in bed, just because...

Because... romance is dead, my heart is dead and berried, for many moons.
I tried to give it away again, apparently he does not want to hurt me.
Am I not pretty enough, or am i just a 'fatty'?
Am I to rough around the edges, or do I need more polish?
Am I far to gone to warrant such attention.

Sometimes I wish I could be as happy as the girls in the tampon commercials,
Or even pigs in mud.
Sometimes I wish I could feel the wind in my hair
holding his hands down some memory lane,
we could swap stories about or scars.

Most off all I hate remembering that I'm not really worth the time.