let me be ugly

I know exactly which version of me you love.

She’s good.

She laughs at your jokes. She never cries in front of you.

She’s charming at dinner, soft in the morning, low-maintenance, easygoing, undemanding.

She’s nothing like the real me.

And you eat it up.

Like I’m a character you wrote yourself, and I’m too polite to correct you.

So I keep playing the part.

Because I’ve learned that being loved feels better than being anything else.

And being left hurts more than biting my tongue by accident.

I hide my silence.

My rage.

My overthinking

The ugly parts. The inconvenient parts. The honest parts.

You think I’m chill.

I’m not chill.

I’m boiling underneath.

But I smile like you want me to.

Because love, at least the kind I’ve known, always come with conditions.

You love me when I’m palatable.

When I’m small.

When I don’t ask for anything.

The minute I stop performing…

The minute I slip….

You pull away.

So I don’t slip. I never slip.

I just wonder how long I can keep this up before I don’t recognize myself anymore.

Before I forget when the character ends and I begin.

Maybe you’ll never see me.

Maybe I’ll never let you.

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in case you missed it…