The past few weeks I’ve come to realize that I’m way too hard on myself. I never speak up or share my feelings because I think they aren’t worth sharing.
This started some weeks back as I was lying in bed with my boyfriend and we were talking about my hair. For the last 2 months I’ve been growing my hair out. It’s hard since my hair is very fine and thin, but I started to take better care of it and not dye it. So, since I haven’t dyed it my natural hair color has begun to rear itself ugly head.
There, that’s where it started.
I described my natural hair color to my boyfriend as “boring mousy brown”. He looked at me and, before looking back up at the ceiling, said: “I think you’re too hard on yourself.”
I didn’t really have a response.
I started to think about myself; I thought about how I view myself and how I think about myself (and, from there, how I talk about myself). Generally, I am not the kind of person who defends themselves when their opinions are dismissed or their feelings rejected. I’ve convinced myself that whatever I’m feeling is silly and it would be a waste to talk about it.
Deep down I have this fear that I am not enough.
This is not healthy.
After spending days and days re-evaluating how I view myself, from what I think, to how I speak, about my feelings and my body even, I’ve decided that I need to start thinking of myself, my thoughts, and my feelings as important. As worthy. Baring the pain and secretly crying when I have privacy has been my way of dealing with hurtful words (from criticism of my opinions to those of my body). It’s not working anymore. I need to express my feelings and I need to see myself differently; I need to see myself as worthy.
I am worthy. What I think and what I feel is important and worth expressing.
I am enough.
He watched me dance.
I touched his eyes as they
stepped further into my soul;
the doorway closed to those
who wait for the lock to break.
Barging in, taking away my pain,
he drove his misery into me,
deep down, under my skin,
I could tell my little secrets.
Shh, don’t let them hear my love
You waited for me to come down,
the sky told you to fly away,
but all you could do was cry.
I was already gone, into the earth.
When I am in love I will be jealous of a spoon
Resting between her lips-
Doors, which hold my breath,
(as a captor holds a captive)
Lips, which have the power to
begin me and inevitably,
A spoon resting there,
Caressed by softness and warmth
After the burn of hot tea,
In the afternoon.
When I am in love I will be jealous of a spoon. Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks
I don’t know what to do with this.
I have no tangible thing to keep you in,
no keepsake, no box, no case.
You exist in the space that you left,
void and seared in my memory.
When I close my eyes,
I see the freckles of your back,
constellations and roads I would travel down,
my hands and mouth,
adventures for only you and me.
And now as I lay in the sheets,
(still twisted by your body)
I can almost feel your fingertips
and the warmth of your breath on my neck
Laying in these empty sheets, I realize
You are not here and your absence haunts me.