I hate myself
But that's okay
I'll like myself better
Another day

I don't have to hope
I know
With me
That's just how it goes

Just like a stray
I won't always show my face

Give it time
I'll be fine

I know my ways
It always pays
To give me space
It's best to let me go-
at my own pace

I'll come back if it's right
If it's worth the fight

I know my wobbly heart
Would pick it apart
Trying to find the art

If it's worth it
It will hard

And maybe if I'm lucky
It might leave a you shaped scar

Much to
my surprise
More and more
I come to find
☆Rainbow Stars⁠☆
✧ in my eyes✧
When most my life
I've lived in ⁠
✯Black and White✯

I am a person.

And I will silence nothing
at the risk of losing sight of me.

Not again. Not ever.

I am a person.
And I had to earn it.

𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘭𝘺...

I had to find out on my own
that I never even learned it.

Never knew that it existed,
let alone that I deserved it.

Never knew that there was more
beyond how others would observe it.

Left to tear apart the parts of me
that weren't ******* perfect.

Believed my body and it's ***
exist to only be of service.

That in the eyes of others is
where the sum of all my worth is.

...𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴?

Every time I showed a piece of me
my mother ******* burned it.

Or a lover would reverse it.

Weaponizing all my flaws
to take it all and ******* turn it...

& suddenly my 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗶𝘁𝘆's
where all of the concern is.

...𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯, 𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘵?

Cause when I speak,
the space it takes
tends to be a trigger.

Words of truth fill up the room
and press down on their fingers.

Gripping on their guns,
like they'll be killed if they consider.

That my pain is not to blame
for them looking in the mirror.

That it doesnt make them smaller
if my audience gets bigger.

That being seen for all my story
doesn't place them in the center.

That the one who holds the canvas
paints the story they'll deliver.

& the child inside me paints
with the pain that is within her.

Dipping her brush into
all the people who've dismissed her.

Covering the canvas
with sad sounds of silver.

Grief glitters gold
and silently shimmers.

The colour of ****, thick
and all too familiar.

The truth can be seen
when the sun hits the picture.

It catches the light
and the colours all kiss her.

I stand strong beside her.

It took a long time to find her.

𝗪𝗲 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻.

And we will silence nothing
at the risk of losing sight of us.

. . .

𝑺𝒐 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅
𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒏𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒂𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄
𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏,
𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒄 -
𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕'𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄.

𝐈 𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐈 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜.

𝑷𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒖𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔
𝒊𝒔 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈.

. . .

꧁꧂

mica light • poetry