It comes to me that I
don’t truly know who I am.

Some call me brilliant,
lovely, bright, and beautiful ,Others call me idiotic ,
depressing, selfish.

I don’t know my name,
shaped and molded by the perceptions of others.
Who am I?

Lying awake at the peak of dawn,
I ask myself—
what’s my favorite color? My hobbies? My favorite food?
Nothing.

I don’t know who I am.

Am I the cool breeze that lingers in the August heat?
Am I the rivers that flow through the soil and greens?
Am I the rain—crying the sky’s tears,
consoling those who weep?
Am I the moon—adored in private, unseen by day?

Or maybe…

I’m the earthquake that shatters hearts and souls.
Maybe I’m the tornado that destroys as it goes.
Maybe I’m the villain in this story,
while someone else— is the hero.

I don’t know.
I don’t know who I am.
Perhaps I never will.

I only see myself through others’ eyes, never my own.
My own mind—
a war zone.
With My heart and mind, forever at war.

I don’t know who I am.
Perhaps, I never will-
Lost in echoes of voices— not my own.

I want to say I’m tired of me
But I know more now
Im not the hole in her shoe
I'm not the broken umbrella in the storm

When the ghost of abandonment tries to make it's presence
The tell is known by it's unbelievable burn
My soul wants to start crumbling again
My heart starts to wither per automatic

It was their choice
Maybe I wasn’t even the reason they left
Maybe I wasn’t thrown away
Or maybe I was
But its not on me
Its on the who made that decision

Im trying to remind myself of my worth
Someone’s choice shouldn’t determine my worth
It have ruled my love and brokenness for so long

I know more now
The more you know the more you are
I am more

You're not afraid of death
Cause you would have started living
If I'm honest instead, as far as I'm aware
You're scared of being scared
And that's a living death
Noble in nothing, tormenting in all,
Creating lamentations and wants of something more
But is that a way to actually
Become who you wanna be?
Or is it maybe just a way
For discomfort to be delayed?
How long still?
Instead what if,
And hear me out
You stopped trying to love without
Fear of life, and instead said
“I am afraid, but not ashamed”
And went and did it anyway,
Whatever you felt called to do
I do not know all about you
But to me it sounds like something
That could be more promising
That could bring some peace in life
As the tension that is born
From creation is not torn
But instead nurtured and grown
So it won't scream, but adorn
Your inner temple with petals, not glass
And then at a point, alas,
It's silent inside,
You don't need to hide
Anymore.
_M.

You are the main character of your own story, so you better start acting the part.

Love.
Hate.
Grieve.

Treat yourself.
Boast shamelessly.
Feel pretty.

Be childish.
Be emotional.
Be angsty.

Be human.
Be you.
Just be.

We are worthy. We are capable. We are loved.

Especially when we're sick and tired or when we feel like laying in bed all day. Or when we actually do nothing the whole day. I want to remind us that this doesn't mean we're not productive, not capable or not worthy.

We're still as worthy as before, we're still as loved as before. It's just that our bodies and minds need to rest.
We actually need to rest regularly, but sometimes we forget that.

Now that I am sick I realized that and it's a relief to be there for myself although I feel so unproductive. I am loved. And you are, too. No matter what you're doing or not doing.

Not only your beloved persons or unrequiteds,

But that kid that always sits across the cafeteria with their head buried in their sketchbook.
That old man flipping through the contents of the half-abandoned little library.
The boy resisting the leer of sleep as he nods of on the bus,
And the lady that walks her dog as the sun meets the horizon.

Remember to love long hot showers,
The moments of serenity between wake and sleep.
Dancing with young children,
or listening to their plotless stories.
The last period of an essay.
Late nights writing poetry.

Most importantly,
Remember to love
yourself.