This is me and isn't.
I wish you could understand
the duality, the complexity.
The rose lips and light pink cheeks.
The way we feel constricted in our body.
The hardship of choosing what to eat,
when to eat.
I wish you could hear a child's cry
and go back in time to save her.
I wish you could give her what she needs,
what I, what we, still need.
I wish you could understand the depth
to which this anger keeps me, keeps us,
alive.
I hate that you don't hate me.
I hate that you say you actually like me.
I hate that there's a man better than him,
because it confuses everything I thought I knew.
I hate that I can only do so much.
I hate that it's still not enough.
I hate that my confidence has a crack.
I hate that my bark is worse than my bite.
I hate that I'm not me,
but I also hate that I am.
