Musings Of A Romantic

What am I supposed to think when they find a lover who he is me in personality, he is me romantically he is me, in everything but the countenance is it even coincidence?. I am wanted but in a Ken doll surrounded by a marketable box. Not this smile, not these set of teeth guarding a tongue that is going to say its peace anyways Not these arms who have held you when you were hurt, Not these eyes who have looked at you raw but true. Wanting him not me how am I supposed to avoid bitter thoughts how am I supposed to avoid the chocked self-esteem held underwater, under my thoughts, under my breath, under my skin. I am discarded every time in my head made of stone for others to step on how they leap in joy of a man like me who isnt me how hot how strong how charming but not me I am just a rug a couch a puppy a blanket to wrap you in and hold you but when the man comes you let the moths eat me. Then you get married I become a new blanket for another soul when will I be enough for someone when will I be not a blanket but a lover?