Isn't it astounding how often we connect to others,
Yet we spend the entirety of our lives searching for ourselves?
We can find nothing but perfection in the flaws of others
But when we look in the mirror all we find is disappointment
In others, we see the potential of success in person we barely know
Yet all our hard work seems frivolous because we are blind
We can love someone with the whole of our heart, break ourselves
For someone who wouldn't think to remember your name
How is it that our harshest of judges is ourselves,
But we forgive others without the request of an apology
When did we learn that to love ourself is to conceited?
When did we learn to be modest is to degrade ourselves?