I’m scared one day you’re going to see me as I see myself.
One day you’re going to notice that I’m not as selfless as I try to be, and that in fact majority of things I do, I do to keep myself sane.
I’m scared you’re going to witness the true beauty of another and question why my dull hair and my speckled skin could even compare.
I’m scared you’re going to realise I am insecure, I am jealous and I don’t believe I’m worth any kindness someone shows towards me.
You’ll see the ways in which I never got over my past, and the experiences that created me, or patched me together like a coat made of flaws and tragedy.
You’ll notice how my eyes don’t shine bright like they used too and my smoking is more of an addiction that it was before.
That I don’t sleep at night and the bags under my eyes only reflect the sleepless night mare I can’t escape from.
Or that my attachment and dependability on another person such as your self is suffocating but I cannot cope with being alone.
You’ll notice how I starve myself because I don’t feel comfortable in my size 8 skin, yet I’ll moan at the media for telling girls their body isn’t enough of a home to feel welcomed.
But most importantly, I’m scared you’ll notice that you’re worth more than I can offer, these broken bones and empty vase of a soul simply aren’t enough to keep afloat the beautiful structure that is your soul.
I’m scared, and I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could be confident enough for you to never notice these things, and only notice the things you tell me you love. I wish I could give certainty these views would never change.