Sometimes I hate myself so much.
And in these times,
I learn to love pieces of myself.
Like the soft curve of my jaw
Or the glimmer of my tired green eyes.
I grew from hating the ways my ribs showed through my pale skin
To loving the way my belly feels after a filling meal.
I grew from loathing the way the darkness under my eyes illuminated my chronic fatigue
To loving the softness of my eyelashes brushing my eye bags as I take a moments rest.
I grew from beating myself up for not being able to get exercise
To taking walks under the suns forgiving rays.
So, while I may hate portions of myself
I also can find moments to reframe my thoughts
Into the forgiveness I am seeking from the dark recesses of my mind.
While some days I hate her,
Other days I think of her as an old friend
And for now,
That is good enough.

Repressed
Depressed
Oppressed
Why?
Is it a women’s job to submit herself to her guy?
And she lies and she lies
To deny that in her eyes
She sees no more beauty;
She’s esteem deprived.

But she must cry on her own shoulder
With no friend to console her.
Her best friend is the belligerent she fights
Like a soldier:
Who knows war and warfare.
But it’s unfair to compare
This maiden who would not dare combat with her man
And men alike
Who might in spite of the fight she leads
Impede her needs
By appealing to his so called right to served.
She too has a right to be heard.

So speak up and be recognized for more than your thighs.

Because you lie and you lie but you can-
Not deny.
You are worth more than that
Worth ridden guy.

I can't really mark that exact moment

when I found it was my own hand

holding the image of myself

over the flames of a burning pit.

Watching as this thick, dark smoke

clouds over me in a blinding veil

and the edges of the image begin

to slowly curl in at the tips.

And I know

if I let the heat,

that's resonating off all of my insecurities,

lift yet another finger from the

grasp I have on my image

is just another step further

to letting it fall to be consumed

by the blaze.

And I know

I should pull my arm back to me

and save me from myself,

but I seem to be bound by a force

calling to me deep from the pit,

drawing me closer and closer

with the simplest of words,

"I am not good enough."

For a long time I was lost and didn't,
  Want no help I wanted to stay in that dark tunnel of fog,
  Then something happened I wanted to find me again the way how I used tho be
  Happy outgoing tell jokes
But I got help with the people who love me
  An I'm I'm no longer in that tunnel of fog,
      Written by Julie David

They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder

but i think i’m going blind.

The longer i stand in front of my reflection

the blurrier my vision gets

Because if I can’t see myself as beautiful

Why would anyone else?

Bless you, beautiful
How can you not
know your namesake?
Shaken by throw away words
From those
Who do not know your worth.