YOU ARE READING

Poezja

This is just a jumble of writing, poetry, self help, rolled into a little thing I'd like to call Four Seasons Growing Inside Me

This is no home it's hardly a house

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by fourseasonsamaria

by fourseasonsamaria

You compliment me,

Instead of brushing it off

I should thank. You tell me you see 

these lovely things about me,  I find it hard

To believe. Because I look at myself 

in photos and mirrors and I cannot find  the things

that you see. 

I'm supposed to love the body I was given

The only body I will ever know.

The only body that I will ever own. 

The only body that will ever be  my home. 

But I am having deep trouble with  this house

I wish you could see.

 I have always loved  architecture

But I've never loved me

the  house that was made has  always seemed

less  extravagant than  the other homes

I've  seen

I know this home, this body  that I live in, 

has many scars and bruises. 

I haven't treated it  as well as it should've been.  

I have remodelled it  much too many times, 

When it was perfect just the way it was.