How Could They Know

I can't remember the last time

I told myself who I am

Everyone always says,

You're so perfect in every way. 

Good grades,

Good body,

Good personality

You're just so good.

I can't remember the last time

I was allowed to be something else

I can't remember the last time

I wasn't made fun of for a bad grade

I can't remember the last time 

I wasn't scoffed at for complaining about my body

I can't remember the last time 

I wasn't thought of badly for having a bad day

 

Maybe it's just me

Of course it is, I'm just too sensitive

Every time someone teases me,

Every time someone makes me feel like shit

Well,

It's only because they love me

They never mean what they say

But if that's true,

Then why say it?

Why tell me they hate me

Because of how smart I am

Why tell me they hate me

Because of the body I have

Why tell me they hate me

Because of who I am

Why tell me they hate me

If they don't mean it in someone way or another. 

 

I HAVE to be smart

I HAVE to look good

I HAVE to be nice

That's the way it's always been

 

I certainly don't work for those grades

I definitely don't try every day for this body

I obviously don't work to keep the smile in place

Because everything just comes so easily. 

 

At my school, I'm popular. 

But do you know what that means?

I have an image

That I never even wanted.

It was thrust upon me, given to me,

Without me ever asking. 

 

See that girl? She's the teacher's pet. 

Of course she's reading a book. 

Look how skinny she is, I hate it.

That shirt sort of makes you look anorexic...

What's the matter? You look upset.

Why aren't you smiling? 

 

I know they don't mean it. 

They don't realize what they're saying

How could they know I cry about all these things at night?

How could they know how much I stress about my grades, 

Because seeing it drop below an A gives me anxiety for days?

How could they know I stare forever at my body in the mirror,

Seeing every imperfection, every blemish, and trying so hard not to hate it?

How could they know I strain to smile every day, 

Because I hate myself when I'm not nice to everyone?

They don't. And they never will. 

 

I'll just be me, 

Hiding from them all the bad

Not letting on how deep their words cut

Never showing the hurt I feel at every jab they take

Keeping the worst parts of me hidden

Because no one wants to see that. 

All they want is me. 

Even if they don't really know who that is. 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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