I have not learned 
Not to love 
Those that don’t see me
For all my poetry and my scars
For my unsung music 
And the reason my unplayed guitar
Hangs on my wall

Because I know
How desirable I am
Broken into pieces
Wrapped up in boxes with bows
Split up into courses
To be consumed
Only when they are hungry 

I have not learned
I am valuable 
As a whole
I believe still
It is good enough to be loved
Bit by bit
Because that is sweeter
Than the bitterness
Of not being loved at all