I Am Good Enough
I suppose that in a way
We, as humans, are all burdened with
A pre-dispositional flaw or two
A trait we cannot simply help,
Something we’re born with.
But I never dreamed
In a couple of thousand years
That mine would be him.
Long ago, I would have confessed
My tiresome flaws to have
Something to do with my pasty skin,
And perhaps the width of my hips,
Maybe I would have whined that
My teeth were not white enough
Or that my eyes were closed
In a photo taken too long ago
To be relevant.
Delusions that I was better
Crept into my foolish mind
No longer did I grimace each time
I passed a reflective object,
My days of slicing
Into my undeserving skin
Were long over.
He confessed his affection
And I began to ponder
If I am worthy
Of his love
Perhaps I am worthy of my own.
But soon, his lips that
Once upon a time
Sparked electricity within me
Began to taste sour,
His arms wrapped around my frame,
Which used to bring such comfort
Started to cut off my air flow,
Strangling the life out of me,
With the grip of a python,
With a charming grin
And no apologies.
Months ago, I would take the blame.
I would write myself off as the problem
As the main ingredient
In the toxic portion of our relationship
Because I’m crazy, right?
Because I am being ridiculous.
Clearly, that’s why he’s screaming at me.
Obviously, that’s why he just pushed me.
It’s my fault.
That’s what he tells me.
I never would have imagined
That my fatal flaw,
My defining factor ,
Would be my ignorance
Disguised as my love for him
I never would have thought
That I would allow myself
To be something of
A glorified punching bag.
He made me the victim
Who was told
“stop victimizing yourself.”
Too long,
It took me far too long
To realize that this--
These harsh drunken words
Screaming at me
In the midst
Of a crowded parking lot
Were not okay.
It took me months to realize
The way that he would
Shamelessly flirt at my expense
With every blonde, blue-eyed
Specimen with a faux, orange tan,
And a decent rack of tits
Then proceed to accuse me
Of being a whore
Was not what I deserved.
It took me a whole damned year
To figure out that this boy
Who made me smell like cigarettes,
And cry myself to sleep
Was not at all worthy of my
Beautiful porcelain skin,
Or my curvy, voluptuous hips,
And most certainly
Not my time or my tears.
It took me too fucking long
To come to my senses
To realize that this freak show
Was. Not. Love.
Even after him, there’s often an echo
That goes off
Like an alarm in my head
Even on the mornings
In which I feel beautiful enough
To go without painting over my face,
Even in the afternoons
When I feel intelligent enough
To be in my upper-level classes,
Even on the nights
That make me feel loved,
That make me feel good enough,
There is an echo in my mind
A voice belonging
To a foul demon
That sounds a hell of a whole lot
Like him.
I know I am strong now
Because when this voice
Wakes me up
Just to push me back down again,
Merely to taunt me,
With false accusations of imperfection,
I tell myself, “I am beautiful.”
I no longer have crippling thoughts
Of inferiority
Because when those fears
Implanted into me so many times
Resurface and I start to feel
Stupid, unimportant, worthless,
I tell myself, “I am smart.”
I know I am better now
Because on the nights
I’ve had a bit
Too much to drink,
I do not dial his number,
I do not reach for a blade,
I do not crave a cigarette,
Or a screaming match.
Instead I tell myself,
“I am good enough.”