The moon forgets the power she holds with or without the sun.

The storms she brings with the tides always in her favor.

Shifting and going as she fades into her many faces.

The power she lends to every miserable woman.

Trying to start a new, Learning their worth.

She keeps forgetting that she doesn't need the sun to shine.

That she is all that she needs to become divine.

She always forgets.

Oh Darling, look at what you've done
Believed the tall tails of boys instead of the female at your feet
But why would you when you have an ego that towers over the David?
And you thought it was silly that I gifted you the name Michelangelo
I couldn't have picked more right
You though have forgotten that I am a master piece of my own creation, sculpted by none other but my own hands and never appreciated by yours
And my sweet Michelangelo, if you think to call yourself my muse then you are nothing more than a fool
For everything I have been through has led to my life's legacy
My family chiselled out the shape
My childhood chipped away at the detail
And men like you did nothing more than carve in the finishing touches
I am a beauty in my own right
And as always too much for some to handle, and never fully understood by the rest
But still she will live on through the ages
So the next time darling that you fall confused, I implore you to simply ask the master herself
And you would come to realize that this artist was far too focused on creating to let anyone interfere with her work

Talk to me in a nicer tone he said
I’ve heard you speak to strangers
The love you show, the kindness
Is all I ask for yourself

my roots are growing in ashy
i can't stop looking at my acne scars

i taste everything good in me
and lick the sin off my fingers

but no one told me that loving myself
would be this exhausting

Please tell me that my beauty sends you into a high you've never felt before.
Tell me that my touch leaves you buzzed and wanting more.
Show me I'm intoxicating and glamorous like a Hollywood star.
I want you to be speechless.
Tell me I'm pretty.
I want you to act, speaking does nothing.
I want to see how weak your knees are around me,
I want to hear you stumble on your words,
I want you to say you believe in God. In angels. In love.
I need this validation.
I need to see it. Hear it. Show it.
There s no other way to make me feel beautiful.
I've tried.

Tomorrow,
I will be
a little bit bolder.
Spread my wings and fly.

Tomorrow,
I will be
a little bit stronger.
Soaring through the endless sky.

Tomorrow,
I will be
truer to who I really am.
Broken and bent, but beautiful.
No longer a lie.

I love myself.
I love myself so much I hold myself some nights
And whisper "I'm sorry I let all these people hurt you"

I love myself so much it sometimes turns bad.
I get obsessed, envious of the attention I give to others.

Some days I want to **** myself.
I'm starting to think that's an act of self love, too.
Because,
And let's be honest

This world is cruel.
It's cruel enough that,
One could justify, possibly,
The kindest, most compassionate and loving act you could do for something you love
Is to remove it from the Tragedy that is the world.

And if I really love myself,
Why would I want to show myself more of this?

I must not love myself as much as I thought,
Because I'm still ******* here

Maybe, I just love myself much, much more than I believed,
And want to give me the chance to adapt, thrive, and over power this harsh, cruel world,
One tender action and freed soul at a time.