in*spi*ra*tion

what a silly little word for a 

forever changing fact.

what is the point of being inspired

if the product of inspiration is

nothing but disappointment?

this. 

this is what it's meant to be

trying to decide what is what 

and what is good enough 

when no one ever stops to think

what you want.

who is to say if you can't change?

who is to say if you're not brave?

who is to say if you can't be your own inspiration?

for so long it's been

tear stained cheeks 

staring at my reflection and 

trying to figure out the 

direction i'm going in, 

if i need to move forward or if i 

can stop and take a look at the flowers.

scars and bruises 

upon my bare skinned thighs 

tell me why,

why, 

is it that no one will look me in the eyes?

why can't i just stop and breathe?

it's been so long since i've been able to

see the wrong and the hurt

but maybe, one day,

it'll be my turn.

forever changing 

like the roses in my garden

blooming in the spring and

dying in the winter, 

every year only getting bigger.

what was once a foul sight 

enlightens me with its beauty.

one day, i'll see 

that the roses in the garden 

are really me

the beauty never dies, 

the essence lives on. 

my inspiration?

has been within me all along. 

all these years of trying to perfect

imperfection

working towards an

impossible goal when the truth lies

within my soul.

my inspiration

is me.