I don’t understand these days,
the poetry I speak,

Or value my inner author
enough to strive for literary peaks,

And yet, here I am
writing about my writing still-

Words won and lost
with the drop of my quill,

A ballpoint pen
to be more exact,

But who in my journal
is in need of such facts?

While I cry to myself in the mirror, she'll be admiring every creak in my bones.

Because no one else can

Be yourself
Because there’s nothing else you can be

Be yourself
And love every moment of it

Just because you're lonely
Don't let people use you

these are the days of doom
u seldom leave ur room
u live in perpetual gloom

yet also the days of hope
how to cope?
u pray and u *****

toward self illumination ...
becoming an angel
(pure love)

and yet You must love Your Self

In my experience many poets, especially younger poets, are loving, caring human beings who struggle with feelings of low self esteem and low self worth. Some of them engage in self harm, such as cutting. But they would never be so negatively judgmental of others, or do others deliberate harm. This poem is for them, in the hope they will come to value themselves as much as they do their loved ones and friends.

Keywords/Tags: Angel, Angels, Human Angel, self, self discovery, self help, self worth, low self esteem, self harm, depression, hopeless, hopelessness, agoraphobia, doom, gloom, cloud, dark cloud, hope, recovery, cope, coping, illumination, enlightenment, ascension, love, pure love, true love, self love, angelic, heaven, heavenly

We cannot become successful and produce true joy by having confidence in ourselves. How can we?

Does a captain drop anchor on the deck of his ship?

Is a house built upon its own structural foundation?

Does a tree hold fast with roots that grow above the earth?

Everyone and everything depends upon something deeper and more profound than itself for stability. It would be paradoxical and against our nature to assume otherwise. I know that I could never live up to my own expectations. No, I do not put confidence in myself, my confidence is in a Man who did live up to every expectation for me and yet died a death that I should have died.

Point light source.
Glimpse upon your reality.

Soft-spoken liars,
Emptying their forsaken breath upon battle-scarred ears.

Anticipation of the days to come,
Eases the empty mind;
Drain'd by warfare unseen.

The fight ongoing,
Rough-cracked skin boils in the sun,
Heat-stroked by the anxiety.

Retreat into the shadows,
You poor, blossoming flower.
All you need,
Is partial shade.

Your pastel blossoms will bloom,
With colors that will amaze and astound.

Feed upon the streams that drift by,
And at last you will shine as your heartsongs always knew you could.

Define your own beauty,
And become your very own,
Point light source.

~Robert van Lingen