Almost There

Sun, 12/11/2016 - 17:50 -- syddd


She walks  with her head held high,

Without fear of the future,

 Letting the insults and rude comments,

Brush off her shoulder like a child going down a slide.


 She glides,

She waltzes,

 She flies on her self-worth and dignity,

Every step more powerful than another. 


 When she looks in the mirror,

the picture becomes a lot clearer:

That she loves herself,

Her image, her personality, her body, even on the highest shelf. 

 The girl I see, I wish was me.

I hope that someday, someway,

I'll be able to say, "I love me for me and I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be."




This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741