"You're perfect." You say And I flinch.
You can't see it but my skin begins to itch and I twitch
"Thank you." The words leave my mouth with my hope that you will translate them into"stop."

"You really are." And each word hits me like pin ****** violently tickling across my sensitive skin.
I hate those words, when they're spoken to me I want to hide or scream,"I'M NOT, I HAVE FLAWS."
You see I'm amazing.
I'm beautiful and crazy, manic and lazy, a puzzle and an open book
My scars and bruises are the marks life has made to chart the path that I took.

Then you say I'm "perfect."
Taking everything I am out of the equation and making me a single word.
And you say it after I point out one of my wonderful imperfections
As if trying to ignore these fine lines etched like lightning on my pages
"I'm really not." And it's not a bashful admission of self enmity masked as modesty
It's a fact, sharp and black like the edges of my eyes as I stare you down.