First Draft
Becoming
Sitting in a chair She ponders on her old self Chair rocking with creaks Choices she has made Her own internal battle Both angry and sad A feeling of pride Defeating negative thoughts Knowing she has grown With ignorance gone New light breaks through what was scars Shame now pride and hope She has empathy Burying the dead shed skin Looking back no more
By Tressa Roseabout a year ago in Poets
Tempestuous
I keep reaching out to you but I cannot seem to grasp hold of you. I cannot find you amongst the rubble, amongst the prehistoric soil. It's a perpetual game of hide and seek where the perfect version of me exists out there somewhere. On the hunt for adequacy, any hint of excellence or supremacy. I am a random puzzle piece that just cannot fit correctly within herself. She is a tempestuous one, a volatile and disconnected affliction. Why am I always so conflicted with myself? To live inside this vacant crater, this body that I had no choice in? I never loved what I saw in the mirror. I've tried to accommodate myself but I always end up at odds with myself instead. How can you love yourself when you can't even look past your own flaws and inaccuracies? I can't build myself up despite wanting to climb higher. I can only push myself forward in order to prove I am capable. I have to crawl faster just to out smart the me that is always dragging me down. There is a doppelganger that continues to offend me so. There is a double that masquerades as me but I am the better one. She is the amount of self-esteem I just cannot contain. Anxiety is a curse I have learned to live with. I can't help but loathe this part of me that just ridicules me so. She points the finger at me, wondering why I can never measure up. As high as our standards are, we can never meet nor exceed our own expectations. We fall short of our sense of self-respect. I have kept us alive despite never giving us a reason why. I cannot get my own reassurance nor validation from myself. There is tremendous lack of confidence that I just never had. How can you afford worthiness with no spine? I continue to search for her, the me that I'm so jealous of. I'm so envious of a clone that has outperformed me in every aspect of my life. How can I beat her when I cannot be her? How can people reunite with themselves and regain composure? I can't continue to disregard myself. I keep reaching out for you but you won't take my hand. I keep on your trail just for the scent to turn cold. Please don't abandon me here. You're all I've got. You're my last sense of hope in this desolate landscape. I keep praying I'll find you. I pray you're looking for me too.
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
