The beauty in my imperfection.

Some days I see the beauty in my imperfection. Most days I don’t.

Tell me I’m beautiful and I’ll believe you, and in the same breathe tell me that I’m hideous and I’ll believe you.

Some days I see me in the mirror, most days that image is distorted by the rolls of fat and cellulite that I see on my arms and thighs.

Tell me that I’m smart, and then in the same breathe tell me that I’m too smart.

Tell me that I’m strong, and in the same breathe tell me I’m too strong.

I’ll believe you.

With the same arms that stroke me playfully, shove me, and with the same feet that walk with me, kick me into the dust. Don’t worry, I will not retaliate. I’ll take it.

That’s what I do. That’s who I am. I’m a taker.

I’ll take it.

I’ve heard it described as meekness. I know it to be my weakness.

With those same lips that you use to kiss me, tear me down with your words.

Tell me that I’m beautiful, and then tell me that I’m too sensitive.

I’ll believe you.

Tell me that we can make it, and then turn and run from me.

Don’t worry, I’ll take it. I’m a taker remember?

I’ll smile and walk away and then soak my pillow in salt water from my eyes, in the dead of night.

Sobbing like a little bitch that’s too helpless to do anything with itself.

I’ll take it. I’ll take it because I’m strong. I’ll take it because I deserve it. I’ll take it because I must have done something to deserve it.

I’ll take it because if I don’t who will?

Tell me that I’m too modest and I’ll invest in a good push up bra and a low cut shirt.

Tell me I show too much and on the low cut shirt, I’ll wear a scarf.

Tell it to me. I’ll take it. I’m a taker.

Tell me to open my legs by the time we get to ten, and I’ll do it. I’ll do it because if I don’t what more am I good for?

I don’t know who I am. I don’t fight. I take it.

So I’ll let you use me when you promised to protect me.

I’ll let you abuse me and I’ll protect you.

I’ll let you break me, because you built me up.

I’ll let you hurt me, so you don’t have to feel the hurt.

I’ll let you say that I’m yours and let you build me up.

I’ll let you kiss me and put your hand down my pants and up my shirt, I’ll be too weak to fight back, remember, I’ll take it. I’m a taker.

I’ll let you feed me alcohol and make me feel uptight for not wanting to drink.

I’ll let you make your mother believe that you’re dating my friend because I’m not good enough.

I’ll take it, remember, I’m a taker.

Tell me that I deserve fists and that it’s my destiny.

With the same mouth ask to kiss me, and make me desire you.

I’ll take it. Remember?

I’m a taker.

And when you finally get tired of me, discard me like the piece of trash I am.

With no real opinions of my own. No sense of self worth.

Throw me away, but first spit and trample on me like a worthless piece of paper, soon to be too degraded to be used.

But please, don’t lay me somewhere, ripe and ready for the taking, for someone to find beauty in my imperfection.