maybe he’ll choose me

and not spend his paycheck at the bar Friday night

maybe he’ll choose me

and hold my hand in front of his friends

maybe he’ll choose me

and be more proud of my strong, strong intellect and kind, kind heart than my long, long legs and rockstar beauty that fades

maybe he’ll choose me

and listen — finally — to the daggers flying from his lips into my soul

maybe he’ll choose me

and withhold his wandering eyes from these fleeting days that we promised to us, and us alone

maybe he’ll choose me

and fight for me

when I, at last, chose me

because he didn’t choose me