giving up

And I love you, but this is never what I want.
And are we just getting struck with reality?
Or should we be fighting for better?
And is it better to hold on with teeth and claws
and is it better to suck up all of the wrongs
or should we give it all up now,
just cut our losses, just get out
and does it matter anymore

And you love me, but I'm not lovable these days.
And is it your job to get it out of me?
Or should you be looking for better?
And is it better to love me into staying
and is it better to keep me with praying
or should you just throw in the towel,
get out while you still know how?
It doesn't matter anymore
if you love me.

your love

Your love is like a fork in the road -
Your love forces me to decide on a personna;
from all of the potential torias
I choose, every day, to be the one who loves you back.

Your love is a leg brace.
I can walk but I have to walk your way.
You found a half and you will leave me whole;
but I know that your love has wrapped itself around me
and that I am growing to fit it,
but reluctantly.

Your love is reality, and I am haunted with old dreams.
Your love is fluorescent lighting in fitting rooms;
it makes me hate myself.
Your love is the second flame in my life,
and I flit from one to the other like a moth
unable to decide which is more attractive.
And when I realize that I have lost all discipline,
all focus,
all integrity,
then I see myself for what I am,
for what your love makes me,
and I want to live without your love.

Your love is like a concave mirror -
it inverts everything.
Your love makes me selfish and unselfish in all the wrong places.
When I would normally act in my own best interest,
I find myself unable to ignore the heartbreak it would cause you.
And when I would perhaps decide to put my dreams aside
and settle into this excellent reality,
I am as unable to see past my wants as any spoiled child.

Your love is a mystery, and mine is twice as mysterious.
I am a fabulous girlfriend; I am everything you could want.
But I betray you every day, in my heart.
I suppose no one else would call it betrayal,
but that's not much comfort.
I know what to call it
even if no one else does.

You are the love that it never occurred to me to dream of,
because I would never have dreamed so big.
You offer me a good relationship;
the chance to be someone I desperately want to be.
I am terrified, every day, that I just don't have it in me.