I struggle with these feelings nearly every time I look at myself in the mirror.
Some dirty and unrefined feelings for you guys.
You don't have to read this if you want to avoid ANGST.
I find myself imagining myself standing there
Leaning my full weight on the bathroom counter
Head sunk forward in poor posture
Gazing at the reflection returned to me
Shown bare beneath the sizzling bulbs
I gaze with emptiness
But also with feelings of depression
Feelings of ugliness
Wondering why I’ve lost what was good
Regular skin that would be washed and dried
With no outright drama
An occasional tightness but nothing more
But now it bears more than a passing resemblance
To a dried and cracked riverbed
Flakes of flesh that defy my wishes
My attempts at control
Patches of redness
Their cause known
Treated
But still returning time and time again
My eyes pore over these imperfections
These rebellious and disfiguring spots
And I wish I could sink my nails into it all
And peel away this annoyance
This encumbrance
Find my fingers wet not with blood but with moisture
Finding skin that would feel as good as new
No more poisonous thoughts
No more poisonous feelings
Finally finding myself content with my looks
Finally achieving some manner of control over myself
Finding something other than disappointment
Repugnance
Disdain for myself.
Some dirty and unrefined feelings for you guys.
You don't have to read this if you want to avoid ANGST.
I find myself imagining myself standing there
Leaning my full weight on the bathroom counter
Head sunk forward in poor posture
Gazing at the reflection returned to me
Shown bare beneath the sizzling bulbs
I gaze with emptiness
But also with feelings of depression
Feelings of ugliness
Wondering why I’ve lost what was good
Regular skin that would be washed and dried
With no outright drama
An occasional tightness but nothing more
But now it bears more than a passing resemblance
To a dried and cracked riverbed
Flakes of flesh that defy my wishes
My attempts at control
Patches of redness
Their cause known
Treated
But still returning time and time again
My eyes pore over these imperfections
These rebellious and disfiguring spots
And I wish I could sink my nails into it all
And peel away this annoyance
This encumbrance
Find my fingers wet not with blood but with moisture
Finding skin that would feel as good as new
No more poisonous thoughts
No more poisonous feelings
Finally finding myself content with my looks
Finally achieving some manner of control over myself
Finding something other than disappointment
Repugnance
Disdain for myself.
Category Poetry / Miscellaneous
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 27.5 kB
Despite the overall positive message I generally try to convey in my poems, I know these feelings all too well. You're not alone. It's a gradual process, but there is hope. At 39, I've finally learned to be somewhat comfortable in my skin. Well, I don't 'hate' myself and feel quite like the prose above implies you feel. You gotta love you, forgive you and give you chances. It ain't easy, though.
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