You’re never satisfied, are you? I’m never good enough for you and I have begun to doubt that I ever will be.
Well maybe you should try harder, you haven’t reached your true potential yet. I just want you to flourish. To be the prettiest rose in the garden, to be that book on the shelf with the uncreased spine and crisp pages.
Aren’t you sick of your mediocracy?
What else am I supposed to do? I wear your favourite shade of lipstick, I do my eyeliner the way you like, I put on mascara but not too much because otherwise I’ll look like a whore, I overdraw my lips like the pretty girls and I’ll put shimmer and gold where it doesn’t belong.
You have always wanted to be pretty, I simply help you achieve your desires. I know deep down you like it… the attention, the looks, the smiles and the chatter.
I can’t recognise myself.
But that’s what you wanted.
That’s you said you wanted.
I feel like a stranger and it scares me.
Who am I without you? Who am I to others without you? Who am I to myself without you?
So many questions yet you’re not asking the one that really counts.
Am I still pretty without you?
You still don’t get it.
Do I matter without you?
I can’t answer that question, can I?
Then who am I to ask?
Are you there?Return to issues