What Should've Been

I can hear every word
you ever said
in my head
over and over
again
about my body,
my face
and how the two
couldn't be
more different,
worse for wear
and desperate
for them both
to be more like you.

But I'm not you.
I'm a foot taller
and three feet wider -
something you
loathed
and reminded me of
every day.

Maybe you envied
me
and how much I could eat
without a thought
or care in the world,
like my life
or happiness
or your love
didn't depend on it.

But it did.
It always mattered.
Every word,
every look,
everything
you never said
in between the lines
of disapproval
and unhappiness.

It always mattered
more than it should,
more than any thought
or word
should
because I loved you
and wanted you to love
me
the way you
were supposed to -
without doubt
or dreams
of making me
who I never could be -
with unending,
unconditional,
and unwavering
adoration
that someone like me
came out of
someone like you.