Time is not linear,
so as I sit and write this poem,
I’m being born 
and I’m dying. 
I’m suffering and I’m crying. 
As the old me doubles over 
wailing so hard I can’t breathe,
I’m also a child experiencing 
the things I’m crying for. 
I was so alone then. 
People made fun of me.
They ridiculed me, A CHILD,
for being obese and dirty,
without ever once asking WHY
I was that way. 
My therapist would say
that thats just the way things were then,
dismissing my pain as if to say 
get over it already. 
So as I suffered alone,
so do I alone heal, save the help 
of people online that I’ve never met,
which speaks to just how fucking strong I am,
and how determined, 
to do what I can for that little kid
that no one gave a fuck about. 
If I could reach across the multiverse,
I would hold you in my arms
and tell you that 
to the extent I’m able, I love you, kid. 
You, dear child, inspire me. 

4 thoughts on “Self-Love

  1. That speaks to me. I’d like to help my younger self. I don’t know where I found the resilience to survive. It’s tough being a child alone, with no one to turn to.

    You are strong and you are healing.

  2. Pingback: Self-Love – isha

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