i can break it all down,
tear it apart and throw it to the ground,
i can scream and scream and scream
but guess what?
They're not listening,
They neglect to hear whatever i might think,
all They will ever hear is what's right.
what's Perfect.
and until it comes out of my dolled up mouth,
until it leaves Red painted
bow lips,
i'm not good enough.
i don't fit into Perfect right now,
i can squeeze into Queen Bee and squirm uncomfortably as Leader
but Perfect is 4 sizes smaller and needs 3 shoe sizes larger.
it always is.

i can say the right thing at the right time
and then,
for a moment,
a brief, Pretty moment,
(and i learnt how much Pretty and Perfect matter when i was 7)
i am Perfect,
and i can fake it like They want.
the label lasts just long enough
and i hear what i want,
(because i always get what i want)
"you're good enough"
not that They actually have the balls to say it,
it's one of those silent nods
that speaks volumes.
but it slips away like everything else.

taking cues is habitual,
easy,
simplistic,
natural.
i've been doing it my whole life,
and being Perfect for just awhile
but it's never quite Perfect,
so i gloss over everything with Red
even ivory;
just to be good enough.
because i strive to meet their expectations,
no matter how high,
no matter how impossible,
i have to.
anything less than Perfect,
isn't good enough.
and that won't do now,
no matter what sister dear says.

hugs mean nothing,
kisses get what you want,
that's something sister dear hasn't figured out,
always blindly signing "Hugs - Courtney"
because she's like a door mat
and doesn't have to be good enough,
she's nice,
she's sweet,
she's sympathetic,
she's good enough as is,
i have to be a mystery,
i have to be Perfect,
i have to be the Queen,
i have to be good enough
so i slip him a kiss,
whoever "him" has to be,
after a bit of teasing.
it's like i said,
"i know you wanna kiss me"
and like i need,
"i know you wanna be good enough"
i just wish that little voice,
the one in the back of my head,
whispering,
taunting,
crueler than i,
feeding of my pain,
torture turned pleasure,
would shut the hell up and
let me be good enough.