You’re Enough, Even If You’re Not Perfectly Imperfect

“You’re gorgeous,” he said to me.

“Me?” I ask.

“Yes, you,” he assured me.

I stare, a look comes across my face and he can see my skepticism.
I haven’t heard anyone say that
in so long
that I almost forgot what it feels like
to be complimented.

I think about my hair,
unbrushed and messy.
I think about my stomach,
bloated and round.
I think about my body,
taller and bigger than most.

I’m not thin like those other girls, I think.
I’m not beautiful like the pictures you like on Instagram, I think.
I’m not charming and whitty like the girls who make you laugh, I think.

I’m just me.
I’m nothing special.

I’ve spent so much time being told I’m not enough
the way I am
that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be appreciated,
to be complimented,
to be admired.

I just push.
I reject.
I run.
I convince myself I’m not enough.

My first thought was to deny,
to reject the compliment,
to tell him he’s full of shit
because that’s what I’ve been made to believe.
That’s what I’ve convinced myself.

I am not enough because I am tall
because I am not thin
because I am not perfectly imperfect.

But he looked at me and he meant it
regardless of how much I pushed,
regardless of how much I denied.

“Yes, you,” he assured me.