I wonder how the world
gave you reasons enough to doubt,
the smile that you are made up of
and the constellations you’re all about.
How can a mug of insecurities
measure the depth of your soul,
when you are not pieces shattered
but a beautiful poetry as a whole?
Though so often you fail
to see the death of your eyes,
or the love in your heart
as you have seemed to master disguise.
While there could always be someone
out there better than you,
or another who is rather less,
perhaps a little grey and blue.
And it’s this pain that you carry
locked by your heart within,
which rolls away down your eyes
or is inked on your porcelain skin.
But why should you walk
along these comparisons all day,
when you are a masterpiece in itself,
flawed but beautiful in your own way?
Because people are not made
by cards of contrast,
but by the choices they have made,
for the existence in the past.
I know it's been so long
since I've seen you sway,
to the rhythm of the songs
that wash your pain away.
Perhaps it might take years
or maybe a lifetime too,
to notice all the celestials
that make up to you.
And I can only ask,
for you to love your own self,
to open your chapters and read them aloud
from the book your heart has shelved.
So, I hope you learn to see
the beauty in your eyes,
in the curve of your smile
and in the scars of your thighs.
And maybe one day you'll love,
every colour of your own rain,
and have the courage to smile
as you start all over again.