A Gifted Bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots, Made to Order

I want to be loved for what I am not. The femininity I exiled from my body ages ago and now wish to reclaim. Find it in the summit of my voice when I speak to you and in the cursive love notes I’ve littered your drawer with. I want to be loved for what I despise. The smile I’ve always hated. Find it in the crooked tooth that has twisted its way into its neighbors' gums, mocking the work of Dr. Weiss and the square teeth I’ve exposed behind parted lips since I was a child. I want to be loved for the words I do not have. The poetry that pours out of my hands as the very essence of my being and how they tell of feelings I could never speak. I want to be loved for my pain. The pain I’ve endured under the guise of love in young naïveté. Find it in how I wince and moan and groan and wallow as I refuse to take the acetaminophen. I want to be loved for what I am, in her entirety.