In-between, Outside, Everything (X)

Love is when you see the cracks,

When you see the shattered bits of the mirror.

Love is when you see the imperfections,

But in your eyes,

The fractures are perfection.

The imperfections are the perfection,

You have always looked for.

Love is the good,

And the bad.

It’s the in-between,

And the coloring outside the lines,

Of a coloring page.

Love is finding the broken things,

Beautiful.

I used to hate myself.

It took me a long time,

To understand,

That who I was,

Was just as great,

As those I envied.

I came to understand,

That no one is completely happy;

That everyone has some scars.

But scars don’t make you ugly.

Scars give you a story to tell;

They are the roadmap,

Of the life you have led.

I was bullied for years,

By my peers,

By my friends,

And by my family.

But I didn’t like to be the doormat;

I didn’t enjoy all the dirt that people wiped on me.

Because a doormat,

No matter how nicely made,

Will eventually just be filled with dirt.

I’d much rather be a painting,

Hanging on the wall,

Looking down,

At all those who had trampled me.

Art is pretty,

Is it not?

But beauty is in the eye of the beholder,

And everyone sees differently.

I learned after years,

Of being treated like the trash,

Thown away,

And left for dead,

That I had to learn what beautiful was,

To me.

Because really,

No one can tell you what beautiful is to you.

And if you decide you’re worth it,

If you decide to see yourself,

As beautiful,

Then who can stop you?

But art isn’t just pretty.

You have to put effort in,

To make it that way.

You have to put effort,

Into loving yourself.

You can’t just turn around one day,

And decide you love yourself.

It is something you must be taught,

And it’s something you have to learn,

By yourself.

No one else can do it for you.

It seems like a mountain,

Without a path,

That you have to make your way over.

There isn’t a clear path,

To self-love.

You have to look for the art,

In the fractured pieces of yourself.

You have to adapt your idea of beauty,

And you have to find your beauty within yourself.

There are still days,

When I have a hard time liking myself.

But I always love myself.

If I know my own worth,

I don’t have to rely on others,

To know I have it.

I love my face,

And my soul,

And the improvements I’ve made.

There are days,

Still,

When I don’t recognize my face,

But even on the days,

When my body does not feel,

My own,

I recognize,

That it is a beautiful body I have.

Love,

Is taking everything,

And changing your view of beauty,

To fit it.

It is loving the broken pieces,

And keeping together,

All that has been smashed to bits.

It is taking the good with bad,

And understanding what makes it all,

Worth it.