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Tamara Lynn Apr 4
And all at once it became clear
The truth suddenly apparent as I looked myself in the eye
Turns out everything I've been searching for is actually near and dear
From within my own self and not from the outside
I actually may have liked what I saw
For once in what felt like the first time
Things that made up who I am were already enough to shine
Thus allowing myself a chance to be real and raw
My thoughts and world finally aligned
Self love is a journey and a continuos effort, but if you stop and look at yourself from a new perspective, you may decide to like what you see. Not in the name of vanity, but for pure self acceptance for all that you are.
Hope White Mar 21
If you are what you eat,
my best friend is tortilla soup.
Warm and comforting;
a perfect companion for cold, bleak nights.

If you are what you smell,
my father is a California wildfire;
pungent and strong,
but a sweet warm oak like a
winter stove. A smell
strong enough to remain with you
even after many days since his absence.

If you are what you hear,
my grandma is the coos
of too many grandchildren,
who eventually grow to songs
of her praises,
louder than a preacher
who lives his weekdays only
for his Sunday sermons.

If you are what you see,
My sister is the wide eyes
That forget to meet your gaze
And misaligned smiles,
Of the children
That society too often
Forgets to love.

if you are what you touch,
my mother is the soft tufts
of translucent blonde hair,
And the heat of fevered-foreheads
of the babies she thought
she may never have.

If you are what you know,
I am love.
Grantland Mar 7
We all have bodies
Each perfectly imperfect
Be gentle with yours
habiba Feb 14
I am that which must always overcome itself.
Every morning I will wake up and tear down what I've built.
Jahnaye C Jan 19
Why build your mountain in the forest of trees?
When you know the wind takes away its leaves?

Yet, you want the roots from the ground,
And to travel to heights most profound.

You want the leaves that float if the weather is mild,
You want to change colors when the seasons switch their dials.

You want to be the bearer of the nutritional fruit;
Giving you a purpose more absolute.

You do not belong in the forest of trees
Yet, you still wish to be near the bird’s aerie.

Like a tree, you belong with the sky too.
The birds cross from the other side to land on your pew.

You may grow no fruit,
Or guide leaves on their commute

But, you may stretch a bit higher
And lead people up towards the highest desire

Why build your mountain in the forest of trees?
When you know your purpose never flees?
This is a poem I wrote a while ago, when I felt inadequate compared to other people. ( Still feel like that sometimes). As a young adult, I feel an immense amount of pressure to be successful (college, jobs, etc) and when I see other people my age that are already have it all together, it makes me feel less than. Anyway, I try to look at this poem whenever I start to beat myself up about my current situation because we all have a purpose ok this earth even if we dont know what that is yet!
Jasmine dryer Jul 2018
she wanted to melt mirrors
because her reflection wasn't good enough
it red smears scattered
and a terrible outline
but if you could melt her tattered clothes
maybe her even more tattered mind
could think she was beautiful

maybe even , flawless art
tattered beauty
Afia Jun 2018
I feel ****.
Like,
the dark spots on a full moon.
The burning skin under the crisp sun.
The harsh stain of vibrant colours on a canvas.
The violent shade of the monsoon cloud.
The rustic smell of an old key.
The sad wrinkles on a tree trunk.
The tired stretch marks on a shabby body.
Or,
the birth of a life.
I feel less. I feel pigmented.
I feel lost. I feel strange.
This is my beauty to taste.
To embrace.
For years. people have been reminding some of us that how unattractive they look. Beauty can never be defined according to ''their'' perspectives.
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