They scream to me:
"You'll never love another,
if you don't first love yourself."
And I almost believed it that day,
as I sat in front of that familiar dreaded glass.
Tears stained my cheeks,
and my body curled up as I shrank
to resemble how small I felt.
Head pounding, face swollen and red;
they were just more things to hate.
So my shaking hands could not show
one kind, loving gesture to the body they belonged to.
But no.
I refuse to believe the common phrase.
Because these rough hands can touch another's life.
This beaten and withered heart can love someone else.
And it does.
I love her, and him, and her, and him and him, and her.
I don't believe it. I'll never believe it.
For though I could never love myself,
I can and I will love someone else.