Self Hatred

As red falls, I can’t help but cry for days.

The five stages, a sign of hope, seems fake.
How can you be happy when all decays?

When you want the world to just take a break?

 

The mirror is opposite from a scam,

It shows just how much I should hate my form.

Scars in my heart show how broken I am,

And just how much my repair can’t conform.

 

Despite this, you see true beauty in me.

You accept my self hatred and aching.

In your arms and presence, I feel homely.

Your words help me awake in the morning.

 

“The butterfly does not know its own wings,”

“But others can see what its beauty brings.”

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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