you love me.
you say it all the time.
“i love you”
it’s my fault i don’t believe it, isn’t it?
it’s my fault i don’t trust you.
i’m being dramatic, paranoid, unfair.
ungrateful.
always ungrateful.
i can never appreciate you
enough,
can i? you
clothed me and fed me.
every once in a while, you offered support.
and let’s not forget:
you love me.
you love melovemelove m e
you’ve said it so many times it’s
lost all meaning you
love me. just like you
love expensive lipstick and
love good food and
love pretty clothes.
“i deserve to treat myself”
you did. do. always.
doesn’t matter what the treat is

how can i complain
when there are people out there whose parents
beat them
(you didn’t.
you hit me. lots. but it wasn’t bad and i was young and i don’t remember, it
doesn’t matter),
tell their children how much they’ve failed
(you didn’t.
you didn’t need to. your
cold shoulder and cold eyes and cold words said it all,
froze me in place.
but it wasn’t bad and i was young and i don’t remember, it
doesn’t matter),
throw their children out of their house
(you didn’t.
i left,
before you could convince me
i was wrong about myself. but
it wasn’t bad and i was young and i don’t remember, it
doesn’t matter.)

you tolerated who i actually was,
adored who you thought i was.
that’s enough, isn’t it?
it is more than enough.
it has to be.
it’s love.

i shouldn’t complain.
i won’t complain.
i can’t complain.