for so long
i thought if i could
just become. enough.
that it would be enough
for him to be good to me…
until i finally realized that
wasn’t what he wanted.
he wanted me
to be pretty enough
to be beautiful in his eyes,
but my eyes better
not be too bright,
and that dress better
not be too short,
and those lips better not be
too full of lush and love
or talk of too much life for
anyone else to see something
beautiful in me…
or heaven forbid, for me to see
something beautiful in myself.
and those dreams i had to
find my voice and to spill out
the words and the wild
from my heart onto pages
and out into the world…
if i was chasing those dreams,
then i wouldn’t be small enough
or sitting still enough as
the sure thing there waiting
while he was chasing his.
the more i tried to be. enough.
the more i became too much.
because underneath all the
ways he needed me to be small,
“enough” is what he felt
like he wasn’t.

– butterflies rising