Rome Had Low Self Esteem


I rock the floral shirt with the skinny jeans and boots,

despite not being that skinny.

I look amazing in my punk leather jacket and dark leggings,

even though I'm not so punk.


You think that I'm conceited?

or that I talk too much about myself?

But did you know:

I spent sixteen years of my life

tearing myself down.

I sure as hell won’t tear myself down any longer.


It took me more than a year

to build myself back up, from scratch,

carefully putting pieces together,

kept in place with sparkly green glue.


I came to terms with my weight:

(I’m fat,

how scandalous!)


I cut my hair the way I wanted it to be:

(who cares if I look like a boy?

I still look better than you.)


I realized I wasn’t that ‘genius prodigy’ I thought I was:

(what’s 2 plus 2 again?


and that’s okay with me.


You call me obnoxious,

and tell me my clothes don’t fit my body style.

But did you know:

those sixteen years were miserable.

I’m catching up on that lost time.

I deserve that much, at least, if not more.


Rome wasn’t built in a day,

and neither was I;

but we both look damn good in the end.


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