By Austin B. Hahn
When I’m quiet, you say, “You seem stiff. Loosen up,” but when I open up, you say, “You’re so fucking weird.”
You adore me at a distance, but once you meet me, you’re disappointed.
You feel so close when you text me, but when you’re with me, I feel as if we’re a thousand feet apart.
You write me lengthy e-mails about how wonderfully your life is going, but you don’t say much whenever I call you.
You hate to see me go, but you can’t wait until I leave.
You ask me how my day was, but you won’t hear anything beyond, “It was good.”
You are proud of me when I’m successful, but as soon as I fail, you act as if I’ve done nothing other than sit on my ass for the last ten years of my life.
You tell me to be confident, but you call me narcissistic when I build my self-esteem.
You love me when I fulfill your idealized image of who you think I should be, but you despise me when I can’t live up to your illusory expectations.
When you say, “I’m always here for you,” I can never believe you because as soon as I turn to you for help, you make up excuses to justify your absence.
I’m tired of your contradictions. I wish you would just make up your damn mind about me. What am I to you?