Expectations harbor 
in an impossibly difficult box
no instructions
to navigate the
locks and hidden compartments.

I ask (demand) 
the other to meet my needs, 
reach my expectations, 
submit to my ideas of love. 

Echoing somewhere 
behind the feeling 
of being wronged
a small voice asks,

"Is it you causing the damage?"

I fall into another bed
unwashed sheets 
baggage unpacked.
I lose myself in the wanting. 

The echo shifts:

"They won’t ever be enough."
 
I am questioning my own reality now,
unconvinced it’s all me.
And yet,
considering it may be.