I didn't stop loving you, I just started loving me...

Maybe I'm much too plain,
And maybe I'm much too ordinary,
But I can spin tales and
Write soliloquies.

I can paint a new world
With figurative language and imagery.

And some days I don't have much self worth,
Today I'm struggling a lot.
I'd like to think I was some type of
Ethereal vision,
Breath taking and otherworldly,
But I'm not.

I dunno.

Maybe I could be.

Maybe one day you'll see me that way.

But I'm really good
At making comfort food
And cuddling
And deep conversations
And consoling other people
And compliments
And finding cute pictures and videos
And using slang that isn't from this decade,
Like all that jazz, cool your jets, and rad.

Maybe I'm not so bad,
I just hope you can try to find
Some type of good within my mind
Tonight.

What or whom you believe in matters not
If believe in yourself first you cannot.

Consulting with my Sculptor
I critiqued His use of clay
To create my well carved features
In such a careful way:

My eyes are held in hollowed
Holes of hardened clay
Though the hue be not hallowed
They’re heavenly all the same.

This nose be a beautiful bridge
Baked by bronze- brown clay
Unbroken by blows for blood
Breeze brings sweet bouquets

Mighty words are measured
From a mouth made of clay
I mix at my leisure
My mouth is untamed

While my hips are not the widest
Of Wonders won with clay
While my waist is not the finest
Wand whittled for display

My frame is  flawless and free
Formed by flowing clay
Flimsy words find their way to me
And fall on futile way

As I am an amazing art piece
And I am allowed to say
I acknowledge that my Artist
Has a way with clay

Funhouse reflections,

Not all mirrors are honest.

Choose what you will see

Drowning and gasping for air.
I am drowning in my own thoughts,
the thoughts that keep me up at 3 am.
The thoughts that put a whole in my heart,
that rip my self-esteem into two.
I am drowning, trying to gasp for air.
Air that could be my only saving grace.
Air that could be my last breath.
It comes across my mind,
Do I want to live?
Do I want to suffer with all these demeaning thoughts in my head that only I can hear?
I have lost the movement of my body.
My body goes rigid.
And I have lost all the will to try and stay alive.
So I let the evil thoughts come and poison me, until my last dying breath.

I am my dog at times.
She constantly scratches and barks at my door
Waiting for someone to let her out
Waiting to be free.
I wish it was just that easy
To be free.
You wait and wait
For someone or something to free you
Crying out for so long
Scratching at the door
But you feel it will never come
Or you do hear someone coming
Or something comes around
But in the end
You're back inside the same room.
You feel yourself return
Because it's the only place you consider a safe haven
and have nowhere else
So you become content with the room
Even though it is tedious
It is better than continuing
to scratch at the door
And you begin to wonder,
"Am I content?
Is my contentedness my freedom?
Am I finally free?"
But, in reality,
You've just become numb.

Taken from me,
my will
or these shatterings,

Pieces of every sensible answer,
what helped me
through these insanities,

Pride
I thought I had
in this glass box of mine

Which makes it funny how
when I let it slip through my fingers
love of myself was all I could find