To love me is to put up with a messiness I inherited from my mother.
The displays of self loathing and self sabotage i work on daily.
The clothes I leave on the floor.
The coffee cups in the sink.
The bed unmade and the too many shoes.
To love me is to deal with an annoying amount of independence I inherited from my father.
The acts of self serving that I work on daily.
The know it all moments when I’m working on something or fixing something.
The confidence in my work ethic, my persona & who I am.
The laughter I have over everything.
To love me is to know the loyalty and respect I’ve inherited from my stepmom.
The empathy I still long for and work to find daily.
The care over details.
The nurture I give when you’re sad or sick.
The standing up for you but also putting you in your place.
To love me is to cope with the stoic coldness and wandering spirit I’ve inherited from my grandma.
The parts of me you’ll never fully know that I work to show you daily.
The look of dismay I sometimes don’t know is on my face.
The inability to stay in one place for too long without going insane.
The moments I want to run away and never look back.
To love me is to cope.
Cope with knowing sometimes I’m mean.
Sometimes I’m sad.
And sometimes I love fiercely and passionately.
To love me is to love all of me.
Everything I’ve inherited and everything I’ve learned and unlearned over time.
To love me is to be loved in return.
