I hated myself.
No one saw it either,
I hid behind my
narcissist chatter.
But really I wanted
to change myself
completely.

It's been a year
and I've learn to
accept myself
slowly.
I'm still a work
in progress.
I'm like a blown
piece of glass.
You have to spend
countless hours
fixing it.

I'm fixing myself
but rearranging
my thoughts.
By telling myself
that I'm
something
when I feel like
nothing.

I'm a work in progress,
I can't be changed in
a day.
I'm an unfinished
novel.
One where they
procrastinate to
only hours before
a deadline.

I'm a work in progress,
seeing I don't love
myself completely yet.
But I hope that one day
I will.