Fall in love with yourself.
Learn how to be infatuated
with the veins in your hands
and the stretchmarks on your tummy.
Make your own heart race
as you whisper those
three words,
eight letters
to yourself
over and over again.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
And mean it.
If you can learn how to
profess your undying love
to the naked, scared figure
in the mirror,
you can learn how to
daydream about a future
where you
and that person
are finally happy.
If you can give
a piece of your heart
to that stranger on the bus,
why can't you give everything
back to yourself?
You,
who picked your broken self up
after dropping to your knees
one too many times.
You,
who dragged your ***
to the toilet
after drinking the night away
(even though you promised
that you wouldn't do it again).
You,*
who wasn't always there,
but tried to make it up to yourself
by covering your wounds
with purple plasters
and starlight.
Because when people
turn out their pockets
with no spare love
to hand to you,
you will stuff your hands into yours
and give them some of your own
without ever running out of supply.
[because the best poems about loving yourself come to you whenever you want to tear yourself apart.]
