it is killing me
to begin the process of understanding
how little i know myself
how little i love myself.
i know that i am deserving
of self-kindness
of self-love
of more respect and thought and nice words.
i don't look at myself and say "i hate you"
not anymore, not ever again
but i don't look at myself and say "i love you"
not with sincerity; not while knowing the
gardens upon gardens of insecurity
that i allowed to bloom inside of myself.

it is killing me to try and be better
when i can't find a reason to be.
if i believe that i will love myself when i'm better,
than how should i feel now
that i'm so much less than i wish?