Always Second Best

I give my all, only to be made second best. What is it about myself that seems unworthy? They love to have me physically, but not in the way I need. I yearn to be chosen. I want to be adored for who I am— body, mind, and soul. I remain here, open-handed, still believing it might be different. Still mistaking tenderness for promise, still learning how easily a body can be welcomed while a heart is kept at the door. I am not unloved— only unfinished in the eyes of those I give myself to. Yet I wait, not because I am foolish, but because hope has learned my name by heart.