Your Shattered Perfection

You look in the mirror and see what you want.
I see what I am.
I don't have your eyes,
I don't see what you might.
While I grew up silently,
your eyes were distant.
You swiveled around and
what you saw shattered.
The steady disappointment,
that's pasted to your face like mask,
is like a knife.
I'm cut in pieces and what's remaining
isn't good enough
until it's furiously beating on the cold linoleum floor.
These black lines that streak
the pale face are the vibrancy
that steal unwanted glimpses.
They're permanent. They are
NEVER
coming off.
I'm never good enough, it's mentally carved into my skull.
The sign of 'fuck up'
hangs high like the lightning bolt
ready to strike me down yet again.
What did I do to make you hang your head low?
Is it because I found who I am?
Is it because I can think my own thoughts
instead of being fed yours?
"I liked who you were better then who you are."
I'm not sorry if I disappointed you with who I am.
I am not changing for your sly smile.
I cannot be who I was
and I'll fight you until my last breath pasts my lips.
My mind's checked out of here and I am gone.
Not in your grip.
If anything,
I'm your concept of
shattered perfection.