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What if I am beautiful (like he says)?
And my body is lovely (like he says)?
And sexy too (like he says)?
Gorgeous (like he says)?

What if I my curves are just the right size (like he says)?
And are in just the right place (like he says)?
What if I am amazing (like he says)?
And clever (like he says)?

What if he really does love me (like he says on the phone and in texts and emails and when he’s leaving the bathroom after we’ve shared a shower and he thinks I can’t hear him, and when I leave him at night to go home)?

What would it mean?

Would it mean I’m still valid, though I’m old and barren?
Would it make me loveable, at long, long last?

What if this poem is a love song?
A tacky, angsty love song
written by a middle-aged teenager
who has never accepted
her womanhood,
her adulthood,
her beauty or her worth?

What if I am his favourite (like he says)?
His favourite person in the whole universe (like he says, as he leans around the shower to kiss me)?

What would it mean?

You might be wondering:
what do I think of me?

Am I my favourite person in the whole universe?

?

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2 thoughts on “(like he says)

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