The Unloved Part

You won't like me better

If my hair fell straighter,

Neither nails longer,

Nor Face prettier,

Or charms of go-get-her.

You won't care more

If I had less thoughts

& made more sense,

Music with finer taste

Bed with you in haste

It wouldn't make you

Respect me more,

If my poetry was uptight

My spine more upright

It came to me with maturity,

And, god, it came not easy

That not french, no art,

Or so-lovely-feminine

Earthly -virgin- tart.

Neither wee bit more playful love,

Nor figure as tiny as dove.

Nothing could I do,

To buy me you.

What you didn't like

In me;

Since the start,

Was & still remains

An unloved part.