Bed of violets

There is something so broken, so twisted, so hurt deep down inside of me...
That I will never really love.
I will never really accept.
I will never be ok.

Even at 41, I purge.
I cut.
I am fat.
I am unloved by anyone except my children. Even that love will fade.

There is a man laying on bed next to me that wants to love me. He says he loves me. He says it. He doesn't practice it.
Or maybe he does. I don't know because I don't understand love.