"She thinks way too highly of herself" they say, laughing at another picture that has been uploaded.
But what's so wrong with loving the body you're in?

"He's so up himself" they moan, criticising a tweet about his morning work out.
But what's so wrong with working to become the person you want to be?

"She thinks she's sooo amazing" they laugh, mimicking the voice of a girl who performed in the school talent show.
But what's so wrong with being proud of something you're good at?

"It's so sad, she was so beautiful" they cry, scrolling through the pictures of a girl who was found 2 days earlier, hanging from her bedroom ceiling with a rope around her neck.
But what's so wrong with destroying yourself if it's oh so "vain" to appreciate who you are?

Stop.
It's okay to love who you are.
It's okay to change to become someone you're proud of.
It's okay to flaunt the parts of you that make you smile.
It's not okay to laugh at, taunt, tease, mimic and bully those who appreciate themselves,
but if you do,
don't you dare think it's okay to weep when someone takes their own life because maybe,
just maybe,
if you didn't mock them and instead told them:
"It's okay"
they might still be here,
loving themselves,
rather than sleeping six feet under.

At first glance
You compliment me
Orange hues igniting
My brown sugar frame

I have been scratching tallies
Counting down
The days
Until autumns grace

You embalm me
Forever preserved
Begging to forget
To shed your memories

Brown shriveled leaves
Cracking swiftly beneath my heals
Dust which once glowed green
Filled with promises to deceive

My twisted beautiful frame
Will remain
Your words  lost
In the crackle of crisp air

Autumns arrival
Will bring your ruin
But I
Will be born anew

my compassion keeps me
grounded, if I didn't have that
I don't know who I'd be.
I live my life through empathy,
through story and heart and
breath, I try my best to listen more
than I speak. but it's hard
sometimes, because there's so much
that I need to say.

if I could, I'd take with me
everyone who loves me, and
I'd bring there somewhere warm
where we'd all be safe. I forget
how strong I am, that my arms
can hold in all the worry and
desperation escaping from
someone I love.

my eyes can see past the superficial
and right down into the deepest secret
place. it helps me feel more human
to help others.

but sometimes I'm scared
I'll lose myself in them, feel myself melt
into someone else's world until
I can't find my own anymore.
I bring that quiet courage here
to you, to teach you how to love
so deeply that the other person
becomes an extension of yourself,
feeling what you feel and
laughing as you laugh. finding beauty
in others helps me find
the beauty in myself.

I had to travel a long way
before I got this far. I didn't fall
into a well of strength by accident,
I had to pull it out from within
me, from a place I didn't know existed.

if I had only one thing to say, it would be
to trust yourself beyond anything
you ever thought possible. believe
your own story and the things you've brought
from your hometown to here, wherever
you've settled. allow yourself
to be as scared as you feel, but step forward
anyway.

through telling my story, I hope
that every shy kid on this planet
finds their voice, and that every
courageous mouth finds the ears
to listen.

My Attitude
most certainly
Dictates my reality
Just not your
"One-Size-Fits-All"
Personality
Some people hate dancing
And that's really OKAY.
Some people aren't readers,
Some could read all day.
Some of us don't like nightclubs or loud music
Some of us hear the beat drop
and Lose It.
You can be anybody of your own choosing,
You could be serious, aloof or amusing.
You could be social
a butterfly on fire
Or you could find your peace
in the quiet.
It doesn't matter which person you are
Because no matter what
it's a PERSON you are.
Not a machine, a computer or a doll -
And I never say never,
But please,
Never ever,
Let anyone tell you about your own soul.
And I never say never,
But please, never ever
let somebody tell you
"One Size Fits All"

Because whoever they are,
They're wrong.

Who would have thought the pigment of our skin could cause such controversy?
For looking the way I do I must conform to the expectations of society.
If I could shed my skin like a snake maybe you'd finally understand that I am just like you.
I cannot act a color the same way you cannot see a sound, and I will not apologize for who I was born to be.

You were everything I thought I stood for.
And I loved it.
Then you became everything I stood for.
And I loathed it.
You were my other half.
And I goaded you to change.
I didn’t understand that if we were the same,
Then we would both be the same half.
I didn’t understand that two identical halves don’t make a whole.
You needed to be different.
Or in other words, you needed to stay the same.
You can’t really love someone else
If you want them to be just like you.
That’s just loving yourself.
And you can’t love someone else
If all you want is to love yourself.

You choose a sepia filter
To match your timeless visage
To match the clothes you've wandered into today
But it is not a selfie.

Your eyes pierce them through their iPhone screens
Your smile is casually not directed towards anyone in particular
Your outfit is recklessly on point
And it is not a selfie.

It is a punch in the gut
to everyone who has ever
said you are not good enough.
It is not a selfie.

The wings by your eyes will go out of style.
The dye in your hair will wash down the drain.
The clothes will wear out and you will take pictures again.

But you have fabricated a moment.
You are smiling towards yourself.
Slap your image onto every social media you know
Next to the supermodels and Kardashians and words of self hatred
This is the fulcrum with which you will lever the world.
This is not a selfie.

Love,
   a feeling I truly miss!
To love another,
   ah such sweet bliss.

But,
   for one to love another;
   is to first love thy self,
For,
   when love fades,
   your shattered heart
   is what you have
   left.

I think that somewhere along the line, God forgot me
In his garden of gorgeous roses and beautiful daisies
I’m merely a ****; unwanted and tossed aside,
Left alone to wither, waste away and die

I see myself and I don’t like what I see
It’s hard to remember a time when I did not despise my body
A time where I did not pick apart every single flaw –
A time where my skin was immaculate and not covered with scars

They told me to stop because it would hurt me in the end
But I needed it so much that I couldn't comprehend
My fingers trace the marks that the razor blade hungrily kissed,
The feeling of desire and urgency is no longer missed

I examine myself and think for a while,
Unknowingly my mouth breaks out into a smile
My vision blurs, immediately filling with tears
Maybe with a little clarity-
I’ll see myself in a way that I didn't for years

I’ll learn to love my crooked nose
And the scars that imprint my skin,
I’ll go to every extreme
To gradually piece myself back together again.

explain to me why destruction is considered an art?
if i were you, i’d find a way to fight it.
as if destruction was an abstraction to describe to one’s self in a physical installation for all to see in a rarely visited gallery
we lock the doors because we are ashamed of the critics marking and making spiteful points as they leave red marks all over the walls
almost as if the surfaces were like a test paper without any attempt of answering or the tear and wear of the skin you bare

it was always war that we wouldn't label with a numeral to go down in the big books. instead, we whispered it under the sheets. we posted our thoughts on anonymous accounts that go hand in hand with a little lock sign in the corner. we used thunder in our words knowing that reaction that resulted resembled lightning.

as if a tattered canvas could make up for your bruised and battered soul

here’s my advice ; leave the doors unlocked just for a day, you might be surprised at what you find