that's not honest.
reminded and humbled.
patterns created when i was 10. 13. 15. 19. 25.
motivated by a need for acknowledgement. a desire to be wanted. needed.
i feel foolish when i look at my angst from the view of an outsider.
childish I can be.
Why don't I already know that I am worthy of the love and care of others?
Why is it an unfillable hole?
Someone tells me
reminds me that i am loved
Oh, at first, It feels good.
Like the hole squeezes together just past the opening.
Feels warm and knowing and good.
But in moments
The hunger is there again.
Humbled when I look at myself.
How I long to fill others.
Because I love them.
Because I want to show them how I want to be loved.
Because I hurt.
Weep quietly in a silent isolated place inside myself.
Sometimes even when joy abounds
outside the walls of my body.
at the emptiness that I
know is a lie.
I am projecting the fact that I don't love myself the way
I want to be loved.
Can I love myself
fill the unfillable hole
so that I am no longer driven to create situations
to prompt others to fill it?
But I do love them. So much.
I do love me.
painted my canvas with colors
dull and lonely.
Colors that tell a story of not good enough.
Colors that bleed through the bold beauty of red
and gold, sea blue and sunshine orange
that I have created in my life.
to create spots of not so pretty
that surprise me
become more clear than is comfortable for me
that there is no need to find them.
But to know.
Despite the intensity of the illusion.
An illusion it is.