my poetry and prose: Self titled.

I heaved a sigh of relief,spent

From hours,minutes thousands tens

Hunched on my parched back bare

Lugged,a boxful of leaden weight

Of those bars and sacks of false loot

Treasures I had mistakenly understood:

Of fears,loathe and a shy little girl

Hidden

I spied the leaden chest and its inhabitants

Fondly with familiar caress,ever so tenderly.

Gingerly I bade each bar of fear,insecurity

Anger,pain,despair and anxiety

With a passionate wry goodbye

The little girl who watches others run

With excited unison into the sun

Behind blinds of forbidden wonder

Hidden

Fare thee well my little doppelganger

I have loved you too little,nevermore.

As time and hope has bought me thus

So shall I take my leave and let you be

The mirror shines,as doth that sterling sun

Bright bright light.

Lydia,a name mouthed by speech

Where speech was lost and annulled

Desert rose,ashen weed once

Hidden,no more.

Notes* This is a poem that is dedicated to myself. Self love is something that most people forget they need. Why do u think there is such a thick section for self help books? And yet I do exceedingly well at convincing others about their positive traits. I now know,it's hypocritical and not humility if I don't achieve equilibrium within myself. Whenever anyone says anything good to me, I laugh it off and cleverly dodge it with a collected modesty. This is because I had a warped sense of belief that believing u're good meant pride,which is the fall of man. But I didn't understand that faith,hope,belief,happiness and all those great things we associate success with comes to those who believe they deserve it.

So,to me. For me,from me.