I have never
Been considered
"Good enough".

A thing I have struggled with
My entire life.

I have never
Been considered
"Good."

By the people
Who supposedly make those judgments.

But who am I?
To live my life by judgments
Of others
Who are not in my head,
And who were not there for the events
That have made me who I am.

Because those that matter
Will stay,
Will listen,
Will hear me out
In the darkest depths
Of my darkest moments.

They will understand
My defense mechanisms
Of hostile sarcasm
And quiet tears that come too often.

I close my eyes,
And remember a voice,
Remember a smile,
A laugh,
And everything slows and calms
Rather rapidly.

And I am in love
And I am happy,
And I am okay.

My Bluebird
Loves me,
And I am not alone,
Despite the feelings the nightmares haunt me with.

And darkness,
Sick and strange,
Tries to creep inside my mind,
And I will fight it off.
As I am good,
And that in itself is good enough.

I look through my photographs
And see a person I never knew.
An open smiling soul you might
Tell almost anything you wanted to.
And what a fine face I had
With shining unlined skin.
I look at that face and shake my head
Wish I looked like that again.

I don't remember being that cute
It must be a camera trick.
I'm surely not that hot now.
This just makes me sick.
Someone just managed to
Aim that cheap camera right.
Or else it was the lighting
Whether day or night.

I remember that outfit
And the length of my hair.
But I am sure someone doctored
This picture up somewhere
Because I never take pictures well.
I always look like a freak.
I mean these picture make me
Look like I had a widow's peak.

And, look how tiny my waist
And how great my style was then.
I wish I could be that hot
And that young once again.
I would  take that face back again
In a minute if I knew how.
But please no pictures of me today.
I don't like my pictures now.

There's nothing I hate more
Than insecurities
Just when I'm feeling confident enough,
Smart enough
Beautiful enough,
To make it through the day
It falls over me
In sheets of black
From which I cannot escape.

I measure my worth,
By what I have accumulated,
Which really isn't much:
A diseased liver,
A book of poetry,
And a broken heart.
I am what I said I was:
Which really isn't much

She grew her auburn hair long, like a waterfall down her back.
She had dreams that it would mean so much more.

While her hair was truly lovely, she still felt inadequate among the crowd.

Her weight was more than she could stand and she felt her age creeping up on her.

What she sees with her striking hazel eyes is shame mixed with the years of pain she had to endure.

Perhaps if the day would come when she would feel beautiful once again, she could let go of all that has held her back.

Her loving husband found her beautiful, but she never
felt she deserved the admiration.

During moments alone, she took a long look in the mirror and dissolved into tears.

Perhaps if she hadn't heard so much cruelty growing up, the negativity wouldn't be so easy to believe.

Deep down inside, she hated herself and her body
no matter what progress she made.

She was frightened there would never be acceptance, happiness...pride.

Maybe one day she could erase the pain of all those years, instead of collapsing under the shadow of fear.

Do you bask in the glory of a life untainted
or do you brace yourself for the next catastrophe

Will the other shoe drop before you've truly
succeeded
Or can your expectations satisfy your needs

If you stand by and watch as your world slowly
crumbles
Are you to blame as your life becomes a pile of
rubble.

Inspiration wakes your inner flame
Until you feel that sense of fear
And you're burned by the shame

Have you faced more pain than should
ever be allowed
Or were you always meant to stand out from
the crowd

Shout it from the rooftops they'll tell you
Until you've fallen under their spell

And in the end, you can only glance at the image
in the mirror
As you wonder what life could have been like
without all of these fears

Is there perfection in imperfection?
Or is that just a personal projection?
I look at my own reflection,
With mental disconnection.
The only thing I see is rejection,
Everything needs a correction.
Especially my midsection,
There is no perfection.
Only objection,
To the imperfection.