The Beggar

once again,
I find myself the beggar-
the poor girl
weeping for attention,
for love, for a lover.
once again,
I find myself chanting
maybe, maybe, maybe
into my own ear for encouragement-
maybe if I show him,
maybe he'll see that,
maybe if I convince him...
then, then he'll love me,
then he won't shove me away,
then he'll understand that we belong together.
once again,
I find myself not being chosen-
not the weird one-
even when they claim to be edgy,
claim to want something different;
they pick small and stupid
over crazy and complicated,
and why wouldn't they?
which would any logical person choose-
the simple one with little to say
and every stereotype backing her existence
or the complicated one with loud opinions
the breaker of every rule and expectation about what she should be.