A poem to myself, when I hated myself.


I think you are a miracle,

you don’t have the eyes to see.

the hands to hold the heart to feel the love to be.

Nothing really matters,

this feelings but a dream,

you’re broken parts are not as complicated as they seem.

For now your mearly blinded,

without a sense of senses,

you can’t tell that the walls you’ve built give way like wooden fences.

What are you afraid of?

Go forth, be unafraid!

Every shaking hand you conquer is your soul becoming brave.


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