I’ve used up all my time exhausting my body to contort to your preferences of my state of being. You established a playing field of which I must fight in, yet no matter how much I fought - nearing the title of the victor - you placed another person in, my legs ready to cave when I knew what you wanted from me. You believed me to be malleable as each strike would make me remember who I was to gain by committing to it; what was I to gain? And for a while you weren’t wrong. Because each time you pushed me into the pit, my sobs were no war cry. Pushed, shoved, wrung and dried, just to fit into your perfect ideal; only apparent to you perhaps.
I suppose I could love how you chose me - created a mould just for me. And perchance, I could glorify the times you looked at me, or gave me a smile that never quite reached your eyes. And you showered me with care; gave presents and letters, to distract the turmoil, flooding inside. But when you turned from me, your back taking up my vision, took off before I could let a sound escape- I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Not with those papers scattered around me.
And still it is that person you chase around. They’re in your mouth and they’re consuming your dreams. You never let me take up that much space - I think my presence burdens you, never enough to partake. All I heard was the knock of their name at our conversations, and it seems to me you’ve forgotten mine. The laughter with them, always louder, that even with ours it would never be overshadowed. If I stood at one end with my love in my arms, and them, at the opposite with just their open hands, I need not think twice to twist my head around; descend down the steps with me and no other.
You had some gall to tick off the criteria on your checklist. You presented me with methods and experiments to exceed; risk my authenticity to become your plain creation. For a while, I scrambled and begged you to accept the small parts you couldn’t pry away. At your hands were the forceps, aimed at all of them. I told you no. I was met with a horrified visage that only you could dare to have. Such a foreign word that you had never heard before.
I do not require your acceptance of what I stand upon; your hypocrisies cannot find its way to twist what I need. You scowl at what I held tight. I scorn what you attempted. For I don’t see your input place any value on me.
So you’re back with them again, I’m at the edge of the table. I only embrace the tranquility of not dying with your mistakes. You both erupt in hysterics, send a subtle glance my way - I don’t feel the heat of your glare across my face. My pretence of familiarity is not daunting to you. At the end of the room your silhouette turns blurry. At the corner of my sight I see a mirage of you. I don’t run. No, I don’t think I’ll fight for you.
- Riya
I decided to base this piece off of the struggle of trying to reach expectations that only grow bigger the more you aim for them. I chose to keep this piece ambiguous with the relationship between the speaker and the person they address, because this feeling of inadequacy can come with anyone. I think we have all went through a time where we doubted whether we were enough, especially for those closest to us. I hope that whoever reads this knows that you are seen.
If you related to this piece, be sure for more to come!