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I think I've been forgotten
nobody knows
how long I've been away
however, in the details
the uncertainty shows.

There is no grave,
no marker
no way to pay respects
so please just move along
and just continue to forget.
Loving yourself is not about telling yourself how great you are,
its a knowing of that greatness
its about having some love for yourself when you are not so great
It's the gentle kindness
The understanding
The forgiveness
That which you gladly offer to your best friend

Just be that reliable friend
To yourself
Because everyone needs a friend like that
even you
Demi Feb 2
It’s hard for her to talk in her friend group without wanting to die. The complicated crochet that is her nervous system is worn down over years of unfortunate happenings and horrible men. Her speech feels , to her, fragmented and messy like the other side of a cross stitch that no one should see. Well, in this case I think we should display the wrong way round cross stitch in a gallery, because her speech is worth seeing. She just doesn’t know it yet. Her thoughts fill giant balloons that shoot up into space without notice. Maybe they just belong to the stars but I want them too. I When she talks in front of the crowd I’ll be stood next to her. You mistake her coldness for sadness and a mean attitude but its quite the opposite. The ornamental umbrella she holds before her is a guard because you may not be worthy to see what lies beneath.
just love yourself, they say.
as if it's so easy.
as if I can just utter the words and actually believe them.

don't talk about yourself that way, they say.
as if I think I deserve anything else.
as if I can start telling myself
I'm amazing.
I'm strong.
I'm worthy of love.
when all of it just feels like a lie.

why are you like this? they ask.
as if I don't already ask myself the same question every single day.
as if I don't ******* hate myself already.
as if I needed a reminder that I'm broken,
when I'm the one who feels it.
as if I even know.

I love you, they say.
as if I can believe it.
but how can anyone love me?
because I know myself best
and I don't even love me.

- Naomi Harasti
SomeoneSomewhere Dec 2020
I enter to see perfect smiling faces by themselves, with others, with places and things
Here is shiny and there is new with an underlining endless hum of energy
Scrolling is breathing; I can only stop it for so long before I’m gasping
I find myself competing with the perpetual perfection;
Wondering how their waist is so small, their teeth so white and their life so golden
as I sit in the shadow of my own depression.
Mariyam Ridha Nov 2020
Just don't think about those people
Who have left you with no choice
But to think the reason of your aloneness.

Just don't hover around,
Making you feel unworthy,
Shut their door,
And don't worry dear,
It isn't ego,
It's self-respect,
Self esteem and

Just don't be with those,
Bragging about their victory,
By belittling your tiny beginnings,
And don't worry dear,
It isn't that you aren't worthy,
But the person is so unworthy
To witness your
Victory by stepping tiny it's.
You are a gem ❤️
Nuala Nov 2020
I only see flowers bloom from my soul when someone tells me to look
Only then I can see how bright and flourishing they are
as though it takes someone else to shove the tulips in my face
so i can finally smell how sweet they are
but when I am alone, curled up in the corner of my room
the same flowers wilt and petals fall to my feet
I see only then jagged stems protruding from my face
aggressive, tearing my paper skin apart
You beat up yourself
militarizing doubts.
but I can offer you
some good armor.
I give many pieces
but you must equip them.
Please hear and equip
because my heart is breaking for you.
This is written for somebody that matters dearly to me who always thinks they are unworthy. If you enjoyed the poem, leave a comment or share this with someone who would appreciate it!
CMXIClement Oct 2020
I am from my birth pillow.
I am from loneliness, sadness...
...I was always looking for something.

I am from dandelions and tall, tall grass.
The breeze sifted through the yard, and the
blades swayed in perfect synchrony.

I am from Christmas Eve at Grandpa's
house, and the low status gifts.  From
****** communication.  From stones, and Nelsons.

I am from living in fear,
and abandonment.  From,"You're like him."
And luckily from, "You weren't MEANT to fit in."

I am from the cross and communion, and then
realizing I cannot see his face in nature's mirror.
With my own reflection being distorted by the glass.

I am from Illinois, and Scandinavian blood...
From potato soup and at times, nothing.
I am from her absence, and how fast she left.

I am from burnt up, few remaining, and rare pictures.
I am from toys I once collected, now melted.  The pillow
I had now gone.

I am from the feeling I had a consumerists mark
on the world, but my impression is more.  More than
toys or things, I have who I am.  My memories.

I have my worth.
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