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.