This imperfect body of yours is nothing more than just a host for your soul there is an unseen beauty dripping from within so take the brush of self-love and paint it all over your skin because you are the comfort of heaven and the ease of Eden in you lies a garden of solace you may not be the pretty you’ve always craved to be because darling you are the vastness of the sea look into the windows of yourself and not in the mirrors of doubt.
Beneath the Shadows of Eden
I doubt myself a lot. I have doubts in everything I do, and I wrote this to comfort myself. If I had the paint of self-love I would drench myself in it. But self-love isn’t something that will come to you like an impulsive thought. It’s something that has to be developed over time. Something that requires patience and time. Self-love isn’t just buying yourself expensive, materialistic things, it’s learning to keep your heart content with whatever life throws at you. I would be lying if I say I have mastered the art of self-love. I am nowhere near that stage. But I’m trying and sometimes trying is all that matters.
Because I am trying so hard to understand why I am the way I am but I promise if I could be someone else I wouldn’t think twice if it were that easy then, like a coat I would wear someone else’s skin but sometimes, I wonder beneath these layers of all those things I wish I could be would someone ever crave to be me?
I wrote that poem
because of all my insecurities. People tell me I’m beautiful, but the girl
staring back at me through the mirror says otherwise. She doesn’t ever see any
of my victories. All she does is remind me of my flaws and failures. All she
does is compare me to everyone else around me, and I find myself hating that
girl even more.
I’m too fat, too
thick, too much of this, too much of that. It toys with my confidence. It
messes with my mind, and I find myself wondering what other people might be
doing. Do they feel the same way? But everyone else seems so satisfied. So
happy, then why aren’t I. Why do I feel this way? Is there something wrong with
me? Sometimes I feel like if I had a choice, I would choose to be anyone but
me. And if everyone knew the anguish I go through every day, I’m pretty sure
they wouldn’t ever want to be me.
If I could…
I would take a knife
and slice away my skin and carve myself into something different…