I always try so hard to be perfect.
I try to say the right things, do the right things, bury my feelings so that no one is ever troubled or bothered by me.
I take up the least amount of space that I can so that I’m never seen as anything other than perfect.
You said I was perfect.
You said I was amazing.
You said I did all the right things and said all the right things,
But I was missing something.
I did everything I could to be perfect.
But it was never good enough.
Because I was missing something.
You never said what I was missing.
So where did I go wrong?
Did we not have enough in common?
Did I make too much noise?
Did I not make you smile enough? Laugh enough?
Did I not give you the things you wanted?
Did we not have the connection you were looking for?
Did I not wipe away your tears and hold you until you were okay enough?
Did I not love you enough for you to stay?
What was I missing?
Or maybe, it wasn’t me who was missing something.
Maybe, just maybe,
You were missing me.
Missing who I was. What I was.
Because I was perfect.
But underneath the mask and fake smiles,
The forced “I‘m fines”s and hiding tear stained eyes.
You were missing the image I projected.
Because you never bothered to see the real me.
The broken pieces needing to be put back together by someone
The scared little girl who only wanted to be loved by someone
The anxious and depressed person just waiting to be noticed by someone
I wasn’t missing something.
You were missing the perfection.