A Beautiful Mess

I'm a mess. I know I am.

It's only recent though, I promise.

It's only temporary, maybe.

Recently, I've allowed myself to feel the weight

of my depression and anxiety

amplified by the existence of the life

I pushed out of me nine months ago.

I want to love myself.

Really, I do.

Maybe.

I promise, it's only temporary.

But when you're raised to see the faults in your existence,

not just physical, because, let's be honest,

faults and flaws are never skin deep.

I found perfection in my skin, my weight

I smiled when I needed, nodded when I needed.

But when you're raised to believe that you are imperfect,

that's all you know.

You wear self-destruction like a badge of honour.

I'm a mess. Yes.

But I'm beautiful, no?

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