Or is it me

In my moment of vulnerability I admit I want you.

I want you more than I think I should.
I think I'm pathetic, weak, ignorant.

I'm not special.

I've never been anything more than this.

I want you to say the worst things to me In our privacy.

But outside of that I am insecure.

Keep me around I'm what you are looking for.

Will you tho , will you want when boredom sets in.
After we have explored everything.

My inadequacy wearing thin, am I  too much. Too intrusive, too much work, too plain.  Too skint

I'm not that pretty, not like you. I don't ooz sexuality. I ooz weirdness.

I'm inadequate. Expendable.

But I want you. I want to lay you down harshly, aggressively, experimentally.

If you want me, I'll want you, I'll never tire of your confusion.

Of your indecision, of your inconsistency.

Which is what keeps us apart.

Or is it me.