Self-hatred is self-generated
Can't keep this toxin on the shelf
It seeps and spreads
Into all that have tried to love you
Slowly separating you from everyone
That you have ever known
Leaving you forever alone
With only yourself to love

But what happens if you ***** up self-love?

What is there left to love if you can't even love yourself?
And who can ever love someone who doesn't love them self?

Words pour out of my veins
out through my eyes.
I'm walking poetry.
I feel words in
my bones
under my skin.
Almost like sometimes
I might burst.
I take in words
like pure ecstasy.
Words are ecstasy.
The way a combination
of letters can move
mountains,
the way a combination
of letters can be a breath of fresh air.
The way reading a combination
of nothing but letters
can bring the sun out
on my darkest days.
I write because I feel
the urge in me.
I write because it's the
only way anyone will listen
to me.
I write because these words
can crawl through
your skin
and make you crave more.
Like one of the sweetest
forms of intimacy.
I write because somedays
I'm sure that I have nothing else.
I write because I am
a storm.
I write because
to me
It's how I breathe.
When I write,
I can finally be free.