simplicity of endearment, I never learnt
though, frequent confrontation I held
with confined sense of disgust and shame
I walk with shoulders hunched, uninvolved.hated my own essence;
for the failure of being offered love.
"oh, you couldn't lure them?
or you weren't loveable."
I've found it's their depravity not mine;
the understanding love I wasn't offered.I'd be loved even when I'm jackshit nothing,
even when I fail,
even when I stumble,
even when I'm in trouble, I'm loved.
who would tell me all of this?
if not you.but I wont trap you,
or anyone for that record,
it's against my ethics.
with apologies not uttered,
and appreciations not delivered,
I weigh down on myself too harsh.the power over any man I've had was by a poison ring.
the circle of a wildflower crown,
the sphere of a soap bubble,
and the illusion of a sweet circle.everything that I eat, birthed at the altar,
made of mud; what a sweet sculpture.
impulsive, compliant, indulging on high ends,
I've grown and grown through trials & pain,
I've shed skin off my fingers every while and again.why have I no ointment on my wounds,
why aren't my torn clothes mended,
why does my bowl still have holes,
now, all the affection poured sieves through.
that I am left with is the same hunger,
that I had first started with.
YOU ARE READING
I'm fashionably late to loving myself
PoetryThe world would be dull if love, poetry, admiration, zeal, passion, and romance wouldn't lace each strand of our heavenly web. I spill my heart on this one love letter to the entire humanity. In a faint voice though, soft enough to hear only when yo...