Something about me

I have sworn to never fall in love again,
to never ever bother another man
with such stupidities.
I must accept what it is:
it’s toxic to be so attachable.
It scares men away. But I’m unable
to love in any other way.
For me it’s never just a play.
When I love, I love for life, and I love no matter what.
I may not know how to flirt seductively enough, but
to those I love I give gifts and write poetry
full of longing, admiration, and flattery,
and want to do things for them to help them,
in whatever they do I root for them.
I may be shy, anxious, and awkward,
but it truly is an honest word
when I say that I love someone,
as it doesn’t happen often.
Actually, it seldom does,
just once in few years. Nonetheless,
men seemingly don’t fancy it at all when
a woman shows this much affection to them,
when, like me, the woman tries so hard to prove
she is worth being given a chance with love.
But the harder I try, the worse it always ends.
I never even make it to the zone of friends.
I love too much. I am too much,
apparently, and hence men judge
me not to be a relationship material,
not even a worthy temptation corporeal.
I wish I was a simpler person
who wouldn’t mind rejection
with a devastating heartbreak, but who’d rather
be able to move from one guy to another
much more easily.
Yes, I do truly
wish I didn’t overthink everything so much.
I wish I didn’t so very desperately clutch
onto the memories of all the wonderful things
I experienced, and all the most happy feelings
I had with that particular man,
and the hopes to relive it again.
I wish I didn’t grieve the loss
of the man and related hopes
for so awfully long.
I wish I was that strong.
But since I am not, it’s better,
although I’m not a quitter,
to not engage in any such love affairs anymore
and save me and others a lot of trouble and heart-sore.