I’m shedding everyone’s tears but I can’t shed my own. I’ve got it all under control in public; I’m a mess when I’m alone. Pain has injected itself into me; I can feel it bite through each bone. I’m decaying on the inside, but this body is not mine to disown.
My heart and soul are drowning, and I can’t stretch my hands to reach them through my throat. They’ve absorbed too much; they’re heavy, but I can’t save them. I can’t drain the tears and blood; I can’t heal them.
So, I’ll shed my tears through my mouth. I’ll cry with my hands and feet, with my words, and with my songs, and with my dance, till I feel my heartbeat. I’ll shed my tears as sweat; they can’t pass through my eyes just yet.
If someone tells you you can’t do something, certain things might be involved: It could be something they think they can’t do, something they haven’t done, and since they doubt their own abilities, they’d definitely doubt yours.
If it is something they can do, or they have done, they might be trying to protect you from the coming challenges because they were once like you; they might have gone through some challenges that they don’t want you to go through, that they don’t think you are capable enought to go through.
If none of the aforementioned apply, they could be jealous of you because what you want to do is something they’ve not done, something they can/want to do but have not had the opportunity to.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, literally. If you can sincerely find someone or something else beautiful, especially one that is often considered otherwise, without an iota of doubt, you are beautiful too.
I am a long poem; you read parts of me often. I find bits of me in my thoughts; you find bits of you in my words. You read my voice in your voice; you see your words in my words. It’s your whole truth sometimes, and sometimes, it is not. I am you sometimes, and sometimes, I am not, and at other times, you are not exactly sure.
Isn’t it a crying shame, darling, that you worry so much about being beautiful, so much so that you don’t know how good it is to be. You don’t enjoy the beauty of being, and you don’t know what beauty is, or perhaps you do, you see the beauty in other people clearly, but go blind when you see yourself.
Do you just see beauty, or do you feel it? Do you hear it? Do you know it?