Ever?

I took my Thursday evening to type up some poems for a brotha-friend. He inspired me with his poems, I offered my typing services. After all, the man had things written on sheets of paper. So, I offered to help him out. After the third poem written about the connection between him and another woman, I started to wonder whether anyone has ever had those feelings towards me. Was anyone ever inspired to write a poem about me? Was anyone moved to think of me as such a literary muse?

I thought a little deeper, wondering whether anyone ever loved me that way. Has anyone ever loved me to that degree? I can't answer with any certainty. I could assume that people loved me simply because we had a relationship. However, this poet loves a woman who is technically not his girlfriend. It's sweet the way he talks about her. How he lights up when he says her name. He showed us pictures of her without any problem. I was surprised when he opened up about her without any motivation or question. I find myself envying her, wondering if anyone ever spoke of me that way.

I know what I am. I am smart and intelligent. I'm that person you have late night conversations with about race and women's rights. I know I'm funny and positive, which is why people enjoy my company. But they suck so much out of me, I have nothing left sometimes. Yet no one is there to refill the cup with love and affection. Has anyone ever wanted to fill my cup?

Honestly, I have had a lot of people rotate in and out of my life. None of them ever stayed. And the times they were in my life, they gave me their minimal effort. I know I deserve more. Too bad I'm not receiving it. Because I'm always giving them so much of me. I'm always writing about them, talking about them, considering them, wanting them. Soon the relationship turns into me giving while they are receiving. Then they still walk away, without any remorse. And I sit back wondering whether it was all worth it. I sit alone and question whether I was ever loved by that person or simply a distraction for the next woman to come along.

Will my day ever come when I'm the girl in the poem? When will the time come when I can have my cup refilled? Will I ever really be loved?