Not good with words

I've never been good with words
When they need to be said.
Never been good with declaring feelings,
Publicly, at least.

I can pour my heart out,
Under a pseudonym.
Knowing the person I'm talking to
Will never know.

Because I'm still scared.
Of rejection, of change, of rocking the boat.
Demons that I claim to have buried.
Haunt me, even now.

I told you once I'd waited a lifetime,
For your touch, your kiss, your heart,
And that a few days longer
Wouldn't kill me.

In those few days, you fell in love.
But not with me. And they say,
If you truly love someone, you only want
Them to be happy.

Bollocks. If you truly love someone,
You want them, in every possible way.
Any possible way, you want them
To reciprocate.

I told you once I didn't have feelings,
Because I knew I'd scare you away.
And that I was cool, with cooling things down.
I wasn't.

Truth is, I loved you from the minute I hated you.
And I suppose I still dance between the two.
I really can't abide you, or how I feel about you.
But I love you.

I dream of you. Sometimes sweet dreams,
Sometimes I run after you, only for you to laugh,
Sometimes I shout at you, furious at you,
Only to kiss you.

You haunt me. My mental hangover,
My ghost, my demon, my hang-up.
My weakness, my strength, my everything.
My nothing. Not mine.

I've never been good with words,
Not when they need to be said.
Except when writing under a pseudonym.
When I can tell you the most important, least significant, most overused words.

I love you.