Under a microscope
I look at myself in the mirror and start noticing imperfections.
Ugh! A fat roll
Why are my arms so flabby?
I have so much cellulite.
What are all these stretch marks?
As I continue to find things to hate,
I wonder how my future daughter or son would feel about me criticizing them like this.
How my best friend would feel if I criticized how she looked.
How my boyfriend would feel if I called him big.
How my mother would feel if I pointed out stuff on her body.
The answer is they wouldn't feel anything, because I wouldn't dare even noticing it.
Because it doesn't make them them.
I love them for who they are, not how they look.
So why can't I love myself for who I am?
Ugh, an inexplicable need to help others
Why am I always willing to hear someone out when they're struggling?
I have so many friends, even if we don't talk every day.
What are these writings that come out of my head every once in a while?
How am I so dedicated to being a good employee, even if I don't particularly like my job?
I have so many people supporting me.
I just have to change the questions.
If I do that long enough, maybe I'll start believing in myself again.