Irate State

Must it be this way

The consistent blame of 'media'

Why am I not allowed to love me?

The constant reminder that I'm still in remedial

Perhaps this is meant to be - a shell of what I used to love

Thinner, stronger, and taller - now describe this 'thing'

Self-loathing is the only true adjective of this noun

When I begin to recognize elements of my former self,

this profound happiness washes over - I can finally refer to myself as a pronoun

One who is not a 'thing', but a human capable of love

Until this day beaches upon my shore of my irate state

Let it be so, perhaps this is meant to be

Why am I not allowed to love me?