Everyone is deserving of love.

Everyone but me.

Now, don’t get me wrong,

I’m not pointing fingers.

Really.

I don’t want to say it is

Anyone else’s fault,

And society isn’t to blame.

It’s not like I think

“All women are this or that!”

I mean, everyone has their

Own circumstances and types.

I’m surely someone’s type,

And I’ve definitely been

Another’s circumstance.

But just because

That’s how they felt

Doesn’t mean

That it should have been.

You see,

I don’t think anyone

Can qualify or disqualify you,

And especially not from love.

Nobody has the right to tell you

That you aren’t good enough

To be loved by someone else.

Why, you’d have to be something

Far removed from human

For anyone to agree that you

Should never know love.

And even that may be

Fear seeping through—

Fear that the out-crier

May never know love.

And for you to have it

When they might not,

Is too much for some,

But especially for those

Who feel threatened

By their own

Time and space.

But really,

It isn’t about that.

I have looked far and wide

At all the peoples of this world.

I have seen

The good in others,

And I have seen

The evils in their hearts.

And yet still I have seen

That everyone—

Every little soul

Is deserving of love.

But . . .

I have also peered inside of me

Where no one else has looked,

And as the only one

Who has ever seen,

I can safely say

With certainty,

Everyone deserves love.

That is,

Everyone but me.