I don’t take you for granted, ofcourse.
I cannot possibly do that.
But the things you tell me,
The, good, great things you appreciate of me,
Makes me wonder if you are seeing,
Someone in my stead.
Someone perfect.
Someone qualified and accepted.
Someone who earned your honor.
Someone who is validated.
Someone whom you want to see.
Not someone who is in me.
That’s why your words hurt me.
Your words give me a sour taste in my mouth,
And a sore ache down my spine.
Not because they are bad,
Nor not necessarily false,
But because they are great.
Because after all,
That’s not how I picture myself.
That’s not what my mirror reflects.
Do know, though,
That’s not my excuse,
It’s just my reality.