Why do I have to hate myself to love you?
Why do you tell me I was born so worthless— that I don't even deserve to live?
Why am I so imperfect to you?
Why are you so perfect to you?
Why are you so perfect to me?
You have told me I could never know you— that I'm too stupid, too ruined, too woman.
What was my transgression?
How come everything I do good, you need the credit.
But every time I fail, it's my fault.
Everyone told me you were going to be the greatest thing that ever happened to my life.
This love is unrequited.
I get it.
I love you. And, you love you too.
I just don't understand why, you — and everyone else — say, this is right for me.
When I needed you, I waited until I convinced myself why you didn't show up.
And if I don't wait, then I don't love you.
If I respect myself, I don't love you.
Why do I have to lose for my love to be genuine to you?
Why is my love only validated by my pain?
Why is my love considered stained by the nature I was created with?
Why will you only accept me if I reject everything I am?
You've said, without you, I'm disgusting.
You've said, without you, I should die.
You've said, without you, I should be tortured.
And who am I to question this, to question you?
But who am I to be choosy when I ran to you, right?
It's true. I did. I ran to you when I had nobody to run to.
And I listened as I self-soothed and told myself everything I needed to hear, in your voice.
It was the perfect timing because I was broken and I had no expectations.
I was, needy.
My limerance, it blinded me.
I felt like I belonged.
It was not long before I hung on your every word.
And then your sweet words became bitter-sweet and then bitter.
You told me commitment was not about my happiness, wellness, or common sense.
Why do I have to throw all that away? Why do I have to throw me away to be loved?
You trust you enough for the both of us.
You want everything I have that I should salvage and forage for anything.
You claim everything I've earned.
If I have not poverty, I never loved you.
You exempt not the lives of my babies.
But should I turn from you, I never loved you.
I'll never be blessed without your permission.
I must be dehumanized and further degraded.
Mixed signals. Mixed messages. Flying-monkeys.
You've ruined every hand I've held with your jealousy.
You've told me to trust no one but you.
You've held me in isolation for yourself.
Even as I bled, you forsook me.
And even when life betrayed me, I couldn't find you.
So, I fought my way back to myself, and everyone thanked... you?
Who is lost? Me? Them? You— seriously, where are you?
A world that stands by you, abusing me, on your behalf.
You're why people hate me whenever I love me.
You're why people hate me whenever I help me.
You're why people only love me when I hate myself.
Why do I have to hate myself?
Is your love intoxicating, or toxic?
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