Owned and used
Is this truly beautiful?
Trying to fit this changing definition
Integrity lost in this vain ambition.
Certain I’ll make it if I just try
Unable to see truth through my own eyes.
Chasing a future with no certainty
Numbing this moment to ease anxiety.
Reaching for a standard that has become my ideal
As I put bandaids on wounds I fear will not heal.
Do you only see my beauty if I hide my pain?
Is my beauty determined by perfection in this twisted game?
I always keep striving but can’t seem to be
Someone who’s beautiful enough
…or for me.
Sometimes scared and confused
Could this brokenness really be beautiful?
Scars from a life less than perfectly lived
Sometimes I take, and sometimes I give.
Often weak at the times that I want to be strong
Shamelessly needing another to help me along.
Questions without answers, failures I can’t change
Insecure deep inside, but trying all the same.
Facing fears I could hide and wounds I can’t heal
Shaking, I reach out and dare just to feel.
Refusing to let my fear cripple me once more
Moving from who I was to someone I’ve never been before.
Tenaciously fighting these demons inside
Realizing strength I once sought to hide.
Like a child taking her first feeble steps
Frustrated, I stumble and fall and try not to forget:
Running is a dream, crawling is in my past
Learning to walk isn’t perfect but this slow change will last.
Could this journey really be beautiful?
Maybe my beauty can come from this pain
From the tenacity to keep trying again and again.
From the strength that it takes to face my worst fears
And to look weak and broke and cry real tears.
From the lesson I can learn and the ways I can grow
Amidst facing things I’d rather hide but dare to show.
From the support I let surround me when I’m falling apart
From the beauty that is found not on my face, but in my heart.
Maybe I’m made beautiful when I know and believe I am loved
When I let myself experience life as a person alive and not numbed.
When I give authentically and not to validate self worth
When I believe that despite the needs of others, I too deserve to be heard.
IF beauty can be measured, weighed, faked, or captured in a photo or size
With a price that always costs more than I have though I try
Then maybe beauty isn’t something I want to strive for
I believe in my life, I’ve been made for so much more.
So maybe I’m not always where I hope to be
And maybe I’m trying imperfectly.
And maybe some days I’m weak and some days I’m strong
Some days I’m lonely and needing a place to belong.
But as I let go of these masks and release all these lies
Maybe true beauty is what’s growing day by day, on the inside.
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