42.  The Only Person He Made Me to Be

I crawl

borrow

beg

for something,

anything real,

pretending all

the time that good

skin and nails

and a waist slimmer

than yours

will get me to that place,

A place whose name

I don't even know.

I smile

cry

lie

into the camera

for all the people

who have to have

an every day

view of my

imperfectly

"perfect"

life.

Am I the problem

or them

With their sick,

Twisted need

To "like" what

Happiness

Would look like

Half-drunk

And overdosed

On its own bloated

desire?

I laugh

smile

hope

as all His words

Are written

Inside my head

My heart,

And give away

any and all

semblance

Of the person

I used to be,

the person they

Crave,

And instead,

Become

The only person

He made me

To be.