Hard to Love

You made me feel like I was hard to love.

 

And I was never told to stay away from people who made you feel like that.

 

You made me feel like my fuzzy, curly, crazy, wild hair, was messy. You would laugh when you saw my hair on the days I didn’t spend a lot of time and fixing it. And I would smile, and laugh, but I didn’t like my hair was easy to love.

You made me feel like my clothes were hard to love. When they reflected my personality, you made that feel it was hard to love. When I wore black leggings, and baggy sweaters, I didn’t feel like wearing those made me easy to love. When I wore my older brother’s faded t-shirts, a ballcap, and dark blue shorts, I didn’t feel like wearing those made me easy to love. When I wore my DIY shorts, a cute t-shirt, and homemade bracelets on my wrist, I didn’t feel like wearing those made me easy to love.

When I wore my Chacos and laid in the hammuk on my yard, you made me feel like it made me hard to love.

When I ranted about my favorite books, you looked me oddly, and made me feel hard to love.

When I laughed and danced in the rain wearing an old white t-shirt and soccer shorts, you made me feel hard to love.

When I laid my head on the library table and pushed my glasses further up my nose, groaning, you made me feel hard to love.

When I didn’t like what “other girls did”,you made me feel hard to love.

When I wrote poetry about girls with stars in their eyes, and calcium in their bones, you made me feel hard to love.

When I waved my hands around during class, and danced in the halls, you made me feel hard to love.

When I smacked my bubble gum and had a bubble contest with my best friend, you made me feel hard to love.

When I pulled up my big bad of colored pens in English class, you made me feel hard to love.

When I had paint on my clothes, arms, wrists, and face, you made me feel hard to love.

When I had on my fuzzy socks, and my hair was in a hastily fixed pony tail, you made me feel hard to love.

When I played hide-n-seek with some little kids at the playground, you made me feel hard to love.

When I acted out Shakespeare in drama, you made me feel hard to love.

When I had watergun fights with my family, and my shirt was soaked, you made me feel hard to love.

 

When I twirled around during the summer and wrote stories about girls who were like sunlight, you made me feel hard to love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When I was being myself, you made me feel hard to love.

 

 

 

 

And the sad part was, I blamed me, not you. I found fault in myself, not in your judgement. And I, tried to change the parts I thought were hard to love about me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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