Come Closer

I feel disgusting.
I feel like I look like a pile of shit on a log.
I am disgusting.
I am a pile of shit on a log.
Sometimes I wonder how people can even look at me.
Sometimes I wonder why I let myself go.
Sometimes I wonder why I even care so much.
It would be nice to feel beautiful.
Maybe if I lose weight?
Maybe if I was taller?
Maybe if I didn't look so chunky?
Maybe if I wasn't so chunky?
Why does this matter so much?
Will I ever feel like I am the most beautiful person in the world to someone?
Is that shallow to ask?
I don't know.
I had to be made this way for a reason right?
Why the heck else would I be physically made looking like this piece of garbage?
Is my view distorted?
What the fuck. I just want to feel beautiful.
Every girl deserves to feel it.
But for once, I want to feel special, like I'm the only girl who is the MOST beautiful. Like I am the one who is loved by someone over any other girl.

That is my plea to the pressures of today.

Now here's a poem that should make me feel better....but kind of isn't. oh well.


CLOSER by Anis Mojgani

come closer.
come into this. come closer.
you are quite the beauty.
if no one has ever told you that before know that now.
you are beautiful.
there is joy in how your mouth dances with your teeth.
your mouth is a sign of how sacred your life truly is.
come into this. come closer.
Know that whatever God prays to he asks of it to make something of worth.
He woke from his dreams stripped the soil from the spaces inside himself and HE MADE YOU.
He made you and was happy.
YOU make the Lord happy.
COme into this. COme Closer.
know that something softer than us
but just as holy
planted the pieces of Himself into our feet that we might one day find our way back to Him. you are almost home.
There are birds beating their wings beneath your breastplate.
Gentle sparrows who are aching to sing.
COme aching hearts,
Come soldiers of joy, doorman of truth.
Know that my heart was too big for my body so I let it go.
I have shaved my corners off so I have felt at home only in a ball, bending myself so far backwards at the song of my mother's thought I was returning home, but believe me when I tell you that my soul,
my soul is squeezed into narrow spaces.
Place your hand beneath your head when you sleep tonight
and you may find it there making beauty as we dream,
as we sleep,
as we turn over,
when I turn over in the ground
may the ghosts that I've asked answers of do the turning.
Kneading me to crumbs of light
and in this thing love thing called life.
COme into it.
Come you wooden museums,
you gentle tigers.
Little giants.
I see teacups upside down growing in your smile.
Your hearts, they're like my hands.
SOme days they nothing but tremble.
I am like you.
I too at times am filled with fear.
I am like you.
But like the hallway you must find the strength to walk through it.
Walk through this with me.
Walk through this with me.
Into this church of blood, bone, and muscle that is our bodies, that is our lives. That is ours.
There's a door.
Put your hand on its knob.
Pull it open.
Step Forward.
Head up.
Back straight.
Eyes open and hearts loud.
Walk into this. Walk through this with me.
Walk through this.