I do prefer to be an uninteresting someone
to a pretender.
You act in manners that make me blush.
While we are together,
just the two of us,
you keep saying
you love me
the way I am.
I can almost fly,
my nerves surrender,
my aching past melts.
I’ve never felt that way before.
Finally, I can feel secure.
So I turn my back.
Then you act in manners that make me rush
as if I had to prove my value
over and over again.
All of a sudden my way is not enough.
I look like a child whose manners at the table are disgusting.
My hair is too short.
My clothes are too provocative.
My body is nothing but a piece of meat
[and let me tell you
[you don’t even know how to bite.
If I had to choose
between showing up with my own version
or behaving like someone
that I’m not
to please you
and your ego
you already have your answer.
I fought like a mad wrestler
to be
who I am
right now.
It took me blood, sweat and tears.
I’m not a mad dog
nor a crazy bitch.
I’m not yours for convenience.
I’ve been through too much
to give up on being me.
I’m not yours to please.
You won’t have
in me
the version of your needs,
impressions,
biases.
Why does your ego have to be, always, the
most important term
of the equation?
If you are not enough
don’t poison me
with your lackness.
You act in manners that make me wanna crush
your bones
into your very
insufficient soul.
