I’d pray my skins off just cover my family’s
Back – yet as I pen these thoughts, my mind drifts
To the shadows of my own depression…

Is it the root of my anguish, or perhaps the spark
That ignites my pen into a fierce weapon?

I find myself asking how highly people must think
Of me, and that’s a thought that always brings me so low.
Acting so ahead of myself but not knowing where
I should go – the ideal version of myself I envisioned
At four years old, had me happily married by twenty-four.

Yet, I struggle to see my own worth in the eyes of any woman.
I constantly search for hidden reasons why relationships
Falter, and it seems that’s why they often do.… still,
I’d trade my skins to shield those I cherish, even if it
Were only for a fleeting moment.

Is this merely a misguided sense of humility,
Or is it a deeper issue of not being able to love myself?
I feel uncomfortable in my own skins