Do bees even have knees?

I’m really not all that, you know.

Well, no, you clearly don’t, hence my saying it.
I can feel you looking at me with starry eyes, rose-tinted specs blurring out my rather obvious flaws
and I hate it.
Love is not love which alters when alteration finds – and find it it surely does.
True love sees those faults and says, ‘that’s OK, I love you anyway’
Love is not conditional on level of perfection
That’s just an idolatry
Please set us free
I am just me

I’m not saying I’m utter rubbish, just…don’t put me on that pedestal, ‘cos I’m not that tall
and if I can’t climb down, I’ll only fall
painfully, bruisingly
on the icy ground of truth
and I’m taking your illusions with me.

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