poem about how i used to claim i could be a player, and how i regret that i am becoming one.

it took years
but i knew the
"i think i can"
method would work
this little engine that could
did

years of telling people
"i could totally be a player if i wanted to"
then wanting to
then succeeding
then feeling terrible
for winning my own game
shit

i just want what everyone wants
tender, love, and care
little TLC in the air
from a nice girl
who likes what i am
not

empty flirtations
with cold calculations
on success rates
and seeing strings to pull
goddamnit

this was not my goal
but i wont lie
and say i'm not enjoying
these escapades

i just wish i had time
and the girl
to fall in story-book love in
rest her head on my shoulder
and watch our hearts
embrace with little arms
and gentle fingers.