You said I am the most handsome boy in the world.
Then you ponder over what I would look like if my hair was red.
You say there's nothing about me you'd ever want to change.
Then you drew me with green eyes.

My heart questioned and looked at your clues.
So I changed my username to freckles.
And you told me I would be cute with them; that I could have them tattooed.
It's quite obvious, I wasn't the one for you.

And the sad thing was that I was prepared to soak organic honey in my dark brown eyes.
Ink my translucent face with pale, brown patches.
And pull out some gingered dye.
Just to keep you.

You wouldn't change so I thought I had to.
It started there; your behavior spiraling down my mental staircase.
I wanted to help you learn how to live and be happy here with me.
But you simply weren't so you leaned on using weed, nicotine, xanax, and lean.

And for the longest time, my eyes were the only part of me I liked.
Yet here I was researching ways to change them to at least fucking hazel.
I had never felt that feeling before.
Numb, determined, desperate, insecure, and so in love.

And you know, I already had freckles.
They covered my shoulders and looked like stars.
My face was meant to be a pitch black sky
so that my true love could find those constellations.

And I like my bright blue hair.
It's moody and reminds me that I have a spine.
Sometimes I forget that I have one.
Till I realize not everyone can say their hair reflects a summer sky.

And then when I saw him, I really began to snap.
Because he was everything I wasn't.
And I wanted to adapt his style and shed weight to look thinner.
So I started looking online for new clothes and skipping dinner.

But one day I finally realized that I wasn't jealous of his body or who he was.
I was jealous that he had your body next to you at night.
And I wanted you so badly that I was willing to be whatever you wanted.
What hurt the most, I ask myself now, is that it still didn't work.

And I can hate myself for not living up to an image you preferred.
And I can hate you for what you've done.
I can hate him for having your love.
But it doesn't change what happened with us.

I hope he makes you as happy as I once was with you.
But I pray you never make him doubt his creation, the way he smiles, the way he breathes, the way aches, and the way he needs.
As much as I use to want to be like him, I never in a million years want him to feel like me.