a letter to you from you

yesterday you came home and put your head in your hands 

"worthless," you said to me, anger in your eyes and frustration in your hands. 

"useless," you insisted, and i sat there and took it like i always do.
my comforts were nothing in the face of your grief.
my words were drowned by yours.
you sat in front of the mirror this morning for an hour with a brush and straighteners
your hopes and dreams bottled up in foundation and mascara
but when you were finished it was still not enough
and it will never be enough
because you hate me more than even i can fully understand.
you loathe me with a passion
you hate my crooked, too-large nose
and my ears that stick out too far through my wild hair
you hate my skin that breaks out
and my lips and breasts that aren't full enough
and my body that isn't slim enough
you can't see that my face is proportional
pretty, even
you are blind to my healthy weight and size
my mostly-calm skin
and my expressive mouth
because you hate me far too much to ever consider me beautiful.
you hate the way i talk too much
and the way i say the wrong things
you hate the way i make things awkward
the way i can't make friends.
you hate the fact that i see things that others don't
because it separates me still further.
you can't see that my conversations are beautiful
full of philosophy and fascination
you can't see that i don't need the kinds of friends other people depend on
because they don't give, they only take
you are oblivious to the joys of my sight
the world i see.
love me.
please.
you're breaking me apart, and i deserve better. 

look at you. look at me. 

we are beautiful.