"selfcare" poems
Thyself or Myself.
Selflove or Selfcare.
Eating or consumption.
Redemption or Vindication.
Self-conscious or Self-aware.
Sounds same,
Yet vastly different!
Or might I say diverse?
Mar 13, 2021
Mar 13, 2021 at 6:13 AM UTC
I need your absence
to rediscover the parts of me,
I had lost in the midst of you.
I need time and space
to try to get to know me better,
to heal from a place of disaster.
And most importantly,
I need my heart and mind
to agree that..
we’re just not meant for one another.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 10:15 PM UTC
People will tell you,
its works this way
But always remember,
they will tell you what they want you to believe
They're scared,
because inside you there is a power
so amazing, so lovable, so mad, so brilliant
that it can lead you to
Infinite .
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 2:02 PM UTC
scars on her body.
skin isn't clear,
stretch marks,
discoloring,
roaming eyes, they peer,
it's not perfect.
still, she covers up,
layers of clothes,
to hide away the imperfections
that many other girls
show off in mid-sections.
black veils
black everything,
so they won't know.
years of years of self inflicted damage
don't worry sweetie cover it up with a bow.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 6:07 PM UTC
New version of chilling
Involves deeper level of
Conversation
Starts with trust
Patience to listen
Eagerness to understand
Response to improvise
And ends with
A promise to flush
Ego
Anger
And indifferences
For SELFCARE
Let's chill
For the better conscience
Breathe in, breathe out
Mar 15, 2020
Mar 15, 2020 at 10:48 AM UTC
I’m in a limbo. A state of equivocality. Everything hangs in the air, but I try to chart my daily course as I normally do. Times are tough. Uncertain, too. Notwithstanding, I’ve taken more than I can chew.
I’m in too deep. I’m in a dark place.
You see, I was the golden child. A beacon of light. Envy was nothing new to me. I rarely espoused it, but was the oft object of it. Little Miss Perfect – always so put together. Always has her things together. I have Midas Touch, they say. I’m on a plane higher than my peers – on a dais atop the average twenty-two year-old. I can do no wrong. Only upwards from here.
So they say.
So I thought.
Today, my days bleed into one another. Sunday? Monday? What difference does a name make? I run on two hours of sleep and three thirty-minute naps a day. I don’t wake up to my 5 AM alarm. Nor sleep through it. It throttles to life as I hurriedly read tomorrow’s later’s assigned readings. I might get some sleep in. I rarely do. Finish your readings. Finish your work. Finish your classes. Eat in between.
Objectively, I’m in a good place. Roof over my head. Food on my plate. More importantly, safe. No 40-degree thermometers and sputum litter around. This makes me feel worse. Ungrateful ***** Little Miss Drama Queen. A million would **** to be in your shoes.
I’m in a limbo – my brain encased in a cloud of humdrum trepidation. Filled to the brim with silent thumps of dread. Thump. Thump. Thump. It’s not as if I did not try to do better to feel better. I do – I always do. My lists abound. #SelfCare’s always on top. Thump. Thump. Thump. They do little to quell my panic room of a mind.
Sometimes I wonder if this is how watercolor pigments feel. They are always so vivacious off of the manufacturing press. The reds are constantly vibrant and the blues are consistently resonant. But they fade when water comes into contact – even meshing into an ugly grey on the canvas when they touch the other diluted hues.
I’m in a limbo – no sense of past, present, and future. Everyday is a low frequency static hissing at my ears. Wonder child soddened by the somber. I’d build a rocket, they say. I’d own the world, they say.
All I am is tired nowadays.
Jul 29, 2021
Jul 29, 2021 at 5:25 AM UTC
Someday, I'd love to
gently fall in love with the
simple life I'll choose.
#selfcare #selflove
Feb 22, 2025
Feb 22, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
How silly of me
to think you were concerned
for my wellbeing.
I am trying to keep
myself safe
so that I can keep
those I love safe,
and all you can say is
"you worry a bit too much".
Aug 2, 2021
Aug 2, 2021 at 6:09 PM UTC
the best teacher is your experience
we cannot nurture others from a dry spell
selfcare is not selfish
she wept because she was an empath
a sponge that always felt the need to heal
then she started to walk the road lonely
always left dry
so she built walls and mountains
and in order to be in
you needed to be it
she always knew
from the smile of your smirk
fake trends
she followed her own scent
I never needed to be liked
but I was always loved
and if I felt comfortable
id be loving too
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 11:00 PM UTC