When you looked through me tonight over our plastic
cafeteria trays heaped with
broccoli and
biscuits and
macaroni and cheese, I died a little bit.
You didn't see the me that you fell in love with. You didn't see me at all. I have become furniture in your life. I made myself invisible for you. I extinguished the fiery brilliance I bounced off the walls with. Deep down I know that if I had not watered myself down for you, if I was still the girl you went throught the motions of falling in love with, I would embarass you.
You always did want me to sit down and smile politely and be still.
I do not make good arm candy.
I do not like being who I became for you. I do not like the way you silently critique me with your eyes. I do not like the way the left corner of your mouth turns down when you ask me, "You're really going to wear that?" I do not like the way you tell me that I shouldn't have told so many stories and laughed so long and danced so wildly. I do not like it when you tell me that two beers are more than enough.
I based my self-esteem on you. I needed your approval. It wasn't really the love in your eyes that lit me up. I needed you by my side so that everyone else would see that someone thought I was good enough.
That was sick.
It's time for my life to be all about me, baby. Life with you isn't creating any more interesting stories to tell.
This was in response to a nodeshell challenge.