They say how you should learn how to love yourself in order to be able to love others
But I was never one to listen to what “they say”
You most definitely can love others before you learn to hold the same feeling for yourself
Self love doesn’t have to deviate from the path of wanting to love someone other then yourself
The earth
Isn't round.
It has
And hills,
And crevises.
It is not
And neither
Are you.

(p.p) 7/22/17 6:02pm
Don't let the world define you by what they think they know. (Not a flat earth poem, i swear)
I’m in a bit of a situation
There seem to be weeds blooming all across my face
The weeds are red
They are blooming all aross my cheeks
All across my forehead and chin
and even some buds on my nose
I don’t like the weeds
And neither does anyone else
I’ve tried everything to get them go away
but nothing works, and they’ll always stay
these weeds make me sad
oh so sad
and now my tears just water these weeds
I refuse to show the world these hideous red weeds
i have been taught to hate the unwanted
and to strive for perfection
but perfection is something i’ve never known
so for the moment i cannot make these red weeds disappear
and from now on i’ll stop quenching their thurst with my tears
for now all i can do is love them
love these red weeds that cover my face
and hope that one day i’ll find someone who can love them too.
just a poem about acne, because i’m struggling with it and when i feel sad, i write about it.
I wish I could say something beautiful.
But all of the words I dance with keep stepping on my toes,
like the boy I danced with in 8th grade that told me
he was surprised by how graceful I was for my size.

I've always carried other people's grief and anger around in my extra pounds,
storing their feelings like I was preparing for winter
and I've never been graceful about it.

I fall and I stumble and I slip but at least I didn't step on Brandon's feet when I was so nervous about my first kiss following the Sadie Hawkins dance.

I wish I could say something beautiful,
but all of the metaphors I try to grow never bloom.
Because I overwater them the way I overwater all of the loved ones in my garden and all of the wildflowers in my lungs.

I've been told my thumb is black, and not green, because I never know when to stop piling fertilizer upon seeds that will never sprout,
and when to stop piling unreciprocated love upon the people that I care about.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But my voice is always silent like lightning or booming like thunder
and I've never learned how to make it fill a room like the sound of rain,
without being a natural disaster.

I wish I could say something beautiful.
But I still have a hard time looking into a mirror without picking myself apart,
like diagramming myself for autopsy before I've ever even pulled the trigger.

How could I ever produce something beautiful, when I can't understand the work of art that I am?

How could I say something beautiful, when I stand in my hallowed exhibition hall and refuse to paint my walls because I'm so afraid of making mistakes?

How could I say something beautiful, when I'm afraid to frame my best qualities because what if other people think that they're overrated? Overrated like seeing the Mona Lisa in person and still not understanding what the fuck she's smiling about.

How could I say something beautiful when I've never been able to appreciate the different hues and shadows and brush strokes that fill my skin and my mind and my mouth?
I've never been able to appraise and value myself because I'm afraid I'll never sell and never find a home.

How could I say or create or become something beautiful when I'm so preoccupied with imitating others' paintings instead of allowing myself to be my own masterpiece?

I wish I could say something beautiful, but maybe the most beautiful thing I could say in this moment is that beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

and kid you gotta be beholden to yourself instead of those critics in your art gallery.
Rose 21h
there's no one with my dna
no one with my seams
considering all these considerations
no one compares to me

i could sit so tiny on a kite
fly string-free through the sky
use a firefly's light as guide

the sea would see me and wave
the air would take a big breath
and the moon would gaze
the stars would wink
the earth would cave

and well if we're saying things we've yet not said
ill tell you why i went away and why i would again

there's no one with my dna
no one with my seams
considering all these considerations
no one compares to me
The Problem is NOT
What they think about you
What YOU think about YOU.
To all the people suffering in silence, I say look at yourself and see greatness you are more than your past. Push forward-there are better days to come!
Mike Groves Jun 10
This thing I thought I could grasp,
Desperately I try to hold on to it,
This thing I never truly had,
I knew this illusion couldn’t last,
This one thing we all try to grab,
Yet we all know this thing isn’t there,
It disappears as soon as we reach for it,
It’s as thin as the rocky mountain air,

For a moment we lie to ourselves,
placing it safely and securely on a shelf, "I can keep this here and never let it go."
Even though it is a forced perception,
An illusion ,the world's largest deception,
Once we leave the room,
As soon as we lock and bolt the door,
we will not be able to see it anymore.

We never realize the freedom there is in letting go,
understanding that no matter what we do, the answer may still be no. We may be a lot happier admitting this thing is completely fictitious.
We can break this circular pattern this cycle so vicious.
Join me if you wish.

I've spent too much time trying to hold this in my hands,
Making myself the victim of my own laid out plans.
I can’t help who I am, all my truths that I reveal.
I’m an open coloring book. My thoughts are yours to steal.
My soul is inside out, can’t be anything but real.
My open heart is generous; not a wound that needs to heal
I will not apologize. I am not broken.
Tolani 2d
I surprise myself. Everyday.

I’ve overcome obstacles and emotions and grief that I never thought would leave.
I’ve dried tears I didn’t think would stop falling.

I’ve learnt to forgive despite never getting an apology.
I’ve learnt to keep loving despite getting my heart bruised time and time again.

I’ve learnt that there’s beauty in having a big heart,
And liberation in letting go of a love that doesn’t fill it.
She's not made for this world
She deserves nothing but love
But she's already full of it—
She's gold-flowing!
Too soft to be touched,
Too fragile to be held,
And too transparent to be seen.
Her self-love is doubtful
Though she's overflowing with love,
She care too much
For the wrong people
Only if she could see
What she's made of
Only if I could make her see
What her worth is
She could devour her remorse and escape,
Runaway and save herself from this unworthy world
Even if it means not being with me
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