The real you.

You don't know that I know. But I do. I know the real you. You are embarrassed by who I am. If only I were 100% perfect would you look at me like I wish you would. But I cannot be perfect nor do I want to. What is so wrong to you about my imperfections? I cannot help them. They are ingrained into my skull. But yours is just too thick to see from my eye sockets. And the way I look through them, that makes you wrong. I don't like to say it, but I hate you sometimes. I love you, I promise, but you make it difficult. I'm sorry if I do the same, I do not mean to. It does not come purposely. And that's what you need to understand. This is who I am, and there is no changing me.