this one isn't actually about anyone else, it's about myself, because no-one else will ever truly love you if you can't even love yourself. i'm done with hating myself, and i couldn't give a shit less if anyone else thinks this poem is obnoxious or self-centred. i am enough.
Her nail varnish is chipped
That's the first thing you notice
It's black but she's been picking at it
So bits of peach and white show through
Her hair is free
Free and wild
Red and brown and a streak of gold
Flowers threaded through, like she's a goddess.
Her hands are soft
Gentle and small but strong
Freckles dotted like constellations
Like her body is a universe.
The stars cover her face, too
Dotted next to sharp black eyeliner
That draws its way up her soft cheekbones
The contours of her face like hills against a sunset.
Her shoulders are like moons
Curved, and gentle
Set back and proud of the body they carry
Despite what others may think of it.
Her eyes are blue
Not the cliche, sky-blue, sea-green
Blue like a lake with rocks at the bottom
Threaded with hazel ferns and brown specks
Embroidered using a branch
Snapped from a nearby tree.
She was born from this universe
So don't you dare try and tell her
That she is not worth ten times this world
Because she was made from this earth
She fucking is.
YOU ARE READING
a hundred thoughts
Poetry//i think about a hundred thoughts and you are ninety-nine// for hannah, the first girl i ever loved x
