When you cup your hands around me

you pull me apart easily-

similar to the peeled orange, you broke in two,

for the common, and ordinary, occasion of lunch.

Cupped in your left hand, you hold the half of

who you think I am.

Cradled in your right, lays the half of 

who I thought I was.

I just want to be the full circle again,

but,

I can't be the woman I want or the woman you want.

Not on separate occasions,

Or, on the same day.

Those women are two divergent ideals.

And I was neither one entirely to begin with.