not twenty-something anymore, not young and thin and sure

treated my body like a landfill, intentions never pure

pretty maybe on the outside, at least able to bare

the face within the mirror, when the soul was not there

thirty brought an understanding, the passage of time

that even if I neglect the body, I could retain the mind.

I learned not to hate myself, and trash the body I am in

dictating my own worth through the eyes of other men.

then I realized my worth, the sum of all my parts

not those to use or exploit, the value of a heart

the benefit of self love, the experience of truth

not the shallow, angry cries of a wasted youth.

no I’m not immortal, of flesh and blood I’m made

and if i’m the size of a float, I’ll be my own parade.

i’m worth celebrating, each piece and every part

to reclaim the pawned soul, and mend my ugly heart.

the reflection sometimes distorted, sometimes the mirror cracked

time to close my eyes again, and take my beauty back.

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