“spotless”, she’d say, “it better be fuckin spotless!”.
so i became a master of hiding the ugly and undesirable.
there is just too much explaining in vulnerability,
so i aimed to be perfect.
her self-consciousness rubbed off onto my psyche
before my body hit puberty.
i was too dark, too chubby,
too not the “it” girl or the girl next door.
too Keamber, too awkward, too shy,
my generational self-consciousness perspired out of me.
i struggled day in and day out to piece myself back together again
and still have the energy to paint my facade,
straighten my back and hold my head
high enough to render my fake smile.
when i got honest with myself,
shit got too real.
i fell apart. i crumbled inside of myself.
Self-love is cute in theory and tumblr posts
but it is more than treating and pampering yourself.
it is realizing that you are a gift
and that you deserve yourself far more
than anyone else ever can.
it is editing the words of others out of your story
and being a griot of truth,
authentic and rightfully so,
and still being worth a second read.
it is unediting your photo
and still being worth a second look.
it is a never ending process, nothing finite.
it is not hiding the ugly,
or even believing that ugly rests inside of you,
only stars, that are still able to give off light
after millennia of tired
and eons of battered.
believing even the depths of you shine.
i thank God for triumphs.
i thank God for wholeness.
May i stay honest with my broken,
and leave it in peace.