Dear Anyone

How do you write something happy

that's also good?

 

My efforts always seem to fall short

when I attempt to write

about how the sun feels

on my skin,

because that skin contains scars

and pieces that never see the light;

       I can't stand their sight.

 

It's always so juvenile

when I write a poem

about the warmth created in my chest

at the feeling of true happiness

and devoted love

because thoughts of sell-loathing,

fears of unreciproated feelings,

and anxieties of undesired responses

obliterate and inspiration

of a seemingly simple emotion.

 

I can't always describe

how my thoughts and feelings

are interpreted when I'm confident

in my abilities

because it never lasts long enough.

The voice in my head compares me,

degrades me, and oppresses me

to a point where I don't feel

like me anymore;

I can't remember anything

that makes me unique.

 

So I suppose

a better question might be,

"How do I like myself?"

 

How do I bear my body?

How do I heal my heart?

How do I appreciate my accomplishments?

 

Because I can't seem to figure it out.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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