Enoughness

Either I'm too much, or I'm not enough. 

Too independent.

Too opinionated.

Too intimidating.

Too tall.

Not pretty enough.

Not skinny enough.

Not promiscuous enough.

Not experienced enough.

Whatever the elusive benchmark, it seems I'm constantly failing to meet it. 

And yet...how much of my time have I spent waiting on guys?

Waiting for them to like me back?

Waiting for them to text me back?

Waiting to hear if the plans we made are actually going to happen?

Waiting for someone to see my value?

Waiting for someone to respect my time?

Waiting for someone to respect my morals?

Waiting for someone who won't leave me, who won't ghost me, someone who truly sees me?

I tell myself I'm not waiting,

but then I scrounge for things to fill the void:

degrees and hobbies and friendships and trips.

But the void is still there.

You can cover up the emptiness 

so you don't have to look at it,

but underneath,

the emptiness is still there. 

All of this is just a bandaid for the waiting.

A distraction, a pretense, a masquerade 

that I'm busy and that my life is full and complete

even without him.

So what happens when I'm done waiting?

It doesn't matter.

Because as long as he's not here,

I'll still be waiting for him.

It won't happen for me, it won't happen to me

is what I've convinced myself.

And so now I'm waiting 

for someone,

anyone,

to prove me wrong.