three people ruined my life
put knives in my back (twice)
taught me my worth
picked, picked at me
my face, my body, everything
because I am nothing
and I have nothing
three people broke my heart,
showed me not to trust
never to love
and I don’t love
three people broke me
and three people never cared.
People have always said that
——-“you cannot be loved until you love yourself,”
but I have been trying to love myself for years
and I’ve seen people
—who love themselves a lot less than me
—being loved a lot more than me.
And I don’t know how much longer I can do it;
how much longer I can look in the mirror and say
——–“I do love you,”
because it’s starting to sound more like a lie
than a declaration of truth.
Maybe when I can look into my own eyes,
look at my entire body,
—-“I hate you,”
I’ll be able to find love more powerful
than what I’ve been giving myself.
Maybe I never truly learned
—–how to love myself in the first place.
It’s difficult to see myself as big when I stand next to the city,
my round fingers held up against a skyscraper.
And when I weave through the busy streets
I can see how temporary I am – how insignificant and small.
But when I stand in front of the mirror in my entirety,
my lumpy stomach, thighs and round face,
I can’t help but feel bigger than the ocean
and larger than the tallest building in Melbourne.
All I can hope is that one day (someday soon)
someone will wrap me inside their arms like a child
and I’ll shrink into who I want to be.
Then, and only then, will I be able to look in the mirror
and see that my body is the smallest part of me;
the rest of me is larger than the entire city.
I’m going to start with my lips
Because they always say the wrong thing.
Then my hands
That always grip too tightly to the past.
My wretched feet
That stop me from taking a new path.
And my weak spine
For not allowing me to stand on my own.
Even my veins
That spill blood too easily.
And, finally, my heart,
That leaves me expecting
More than I’ll ever get.