I was never shy to strip naked in front of the men I thought I loved. I was never afraid of wearing my heart on my sleeve and letting it crash against the floor when I began to take off my shirt. I was never bothered by how I ruthlessly let lust consume me, kissing strangers guised as lovers with mouth open, tongue exploring, eyes wide awake, heart barely feeling.
Until you came and destroyed that part of me. Suddenly, I couldn’t spend a day not figuring out which parts of me I should repair and which ones you’d like me to keep. I run my words through filters too many times that sometimes, they lose my essence soon as they reach you.
I can’t help noticing these flaws I used to ignore. I couldn’t take off my shirt in fear that you’d see how hideous they look. They get me wondering if these ugly parts of me are the reasons why you don’t want to be with me. I couldn’t look you straight in the eye, because I feel embarrassed that I’m not as pretty as the girls you used to like, but then you say you like me.
You said you liked me, but you never called me beautiful. You said you liked me, but you never ask how I am. You said you liked me, but you didn’t want to be with me. You said you liked me, but you never tried. And since then, I’ve been haunted by the thought that maybe I’m just not enough, maybe I’m just not someone you’d want to commit to.
I tried to fix myself, even parts that didn’t seem broken. You still didn’t notice. You still didn’t care enough. You kept on telling me you liked me, but you still won’t be with me. I’ve lost parts of me in the process of trying to find my place in you. Now I don’t know who I am anymore. I used to be strong. I used to be sure of myself.
I was never shy to strip naked in front of the men I used to love. Now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, bare and unclothed. Scarred and distant. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’m thinking if I ever really knew who I was to begin with. Now I’m uncertain about myself, just like how you’re uncertain about me.