Perfectionist Rehab

Shame was a gift from my lady grey,

“To keep you realistic,” she would say.

My breasts were too large, “Obscene!”

Cover myself up so he wouldn’t desire me.

My laughter too loud,

“You need to calm down.”

My voice too opinionated,

Never vindicated.

Always the problem, never her fault,

“I did this because you wanted assault!”

My colors were ugly, and so was my taste,

“You could have been pretty, what a waste!”

I wanted to sing professionally,

“You’ll never be good enough,” said intentionally.

I wanted to write my thoughts on paper,

“Put it in your memoirs,” mocking booze vapor.

I loved to paint the emotions I’d feel,

“Only create if you’re decent,” – surreal.

I’d come home stressed after bullying at school,

“What do you have to be stressed about?” – uncool.

The message was subtle, built up over time,

“You’ll never be good enough to be mine.”

I’ve coveted families forever it seems,

Painting pictures through other’s memories,

Of laughter and games, yes fights too,

But family I never had with the lady in blue.

Family is not blood, I understand,

It’s a choice bound in love to withstand,

The trials that each and everyone will face,

As a part of the human race.

It’s comfort, advice, a place to go,

The people to whom you can show,

Your bruises and scars without fear,

Because for you, they’ll always be here.

I’ve read all the stories, heard all the songs,

And over and over I wondered where I went wrong.

How could I burn through two families?

“If it happens more than once,” – it must be me.

The opinion of the lady grey,

Words that she would actually say!

I told you in the beginning it was always my error,

That warranted my own reign of terror.

For you see I’m precocious, exuberant, passionate,

Loud, loving, hard-working, compassionate.

I refuse to be only,

The wretched painting homely,

Sketched by the woman I wanted to be my mother,

So bravely, with help, I drafted another.