I know I am not even close.
I have heard it all.
I *did* listen when you said it was hard to live with me. I heard you when you said I didn't pay enough attention to the world around me. I heard you when you told me there was something wrong in my head. I heard it when you told me I was only concerned about myself.
I heard you. *All* of you.
And I said even worse things to myself.
I heard when you said these things, and so many more, and I cried private tears because I Knew you wanted me to be perfect, and I tried.. I really did.. but I just *couldn't* do it.
I know you weren't perfect, either. But I loved you anyways. Yes, *all* of you.
And now, I am sitting here, imperfect and alone... and I Know something else, finally...
I don't *have* to be. I can be imperfect and still worth loving.
But I still have some private tears to shed. Because I ripped out my seams and re-stitched them countless times trying to be perfect enough for you. I tried not to be so loud, I tried not to be so sad, I tried not to be so silly, I tried to be less Me. And I failed.
And now, as I am left alone, anyways, I try to find the bits of me where I patched over them. And I think of how I failed and you know what?
I'm not Perfect, and that suits me perfectly fine.