Flaws

I never believed I was enough

to be loved. To be cared for.

To be happy. To be alive.

All I could see were my flaws,

a list of imperfections that were

much longer than my arm.

I compared myself to the girls that

I saw in magazines, and forever

come up short.

Never skinny enough. Or

curvy enough. Boobs too small, and

my thigh gap non-existent.

My face wasn’t cover girl material

I wasn’t smart enough, funny

enough, sexy enough, ANYTHING enough.

So I shrank myself. I tried to be so

small I might just disapear between

a crack in the pavement.

Tried to be quiet enough that

no-one would notice me

hiding against the wall.

Always moulding myself to who I

thought I should be for every different

person in my life.

In the hope that perhaps, someone,

someday, somehow,

would choose ME.

Choose me over everybody else, and see

something I missed every time I looked

in the mirror and cried.