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Pain is Beauty: Why Am I Not Beautiful Yet?
September 25, 2017
Grains of rice in a row -
half now, half later -
a few carbs
my savior
from the black spots growing in my vision.
Don't feed me your words of wisdom.
I'd rather wither,
watch my bones protrude;
shiver.
Tired eyes,
thighs like crescent moons; wane,
meals; the bane
of the this sad existence.
This is what you made me.
© Michelle M., Plainview, NY
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When I wrote this, I was in a very dark place. I was struggling with so many things, I felt inadequate, stupid, and anything but beautiful. Now, just 3 months later, I feel genuinely good. I just hope that anyone who reads this knows that they're wonderful, and if you relate to this poem, don't give up. It really does get better. I promise.