Selfworth Poems

Self-worth

People rejected me for the way I was,
The urge to change myself rose
more than ever just because
there was nothing else I chose.

I desired to be part
of my ''foremost'' friends
And took it to heart
that it had to make sense,


......

At the age of four

At the age of four, I saw perfection. I saw it in the crystal-like tears that ran like a river through my mother's soul. Reality cracked, within a shiny glass, creating reflections of my weak body. At the age of four, I was finally told, "You’ll never be perfect." But then, I realized that perfection is broken. It's fragile, it's weak, it's flawed, and it's beautiful. Tears became my rain. They became my joy. I spent days in hospital rooms while my mother's tears caressed my heart with their perfectly warm hands. Those tears fought with me, fought for me, lived for me, and died for me. At the age of 15, I saw perfection, again. I saw it in tears that broke out of the confines of hazel brown eyes and ran like a heavenly river of honey through the maple-sweet soul of a broken honeycomb. I saw perfection in a cracked looking glass. At last, another portal to the land of rainbows and diamond-white tears. Another girl, my girl. You should see the way she holds me. You should see the way she kisses me. You should see the way she loves me. You should see her. Because then, You would finally understand... that perfection is not perfect... It's more like a cracked diamond, a messy apple-pie, a fading rainbow, a giant spoonful of Nutella, a mother's tears, red petals that roses wear, the smell of freshly shampooed hair. A girl who talks to herself. A girl who talks to my heart. A girl who made me feel like I was four-years-old again. Earth's lucky charm. My baby girl. Lexi. I love you

My worth

Of my 'market value'
I don't bother to talk
it would only upset you
and others---most awkward !

My worth

Of my 'market value'
I don't bother to talk
it would only upset you
and others---most awkward !

Self-worth

People rejected me for the way I was,
The urge to change myself rose
more than ever just because
there was nothing else I chose.

I desired to be part
of my ''foremost'' friends
And took it to heart
that it had to make sense,


......

At the age of four

At the age of four, I saw perfection. I saw it in the crystal-like tears that ran like a river through my mother's soul. Reality cracked, within a shiny glass, creating reflections of my weak body. At the age of four, I was finally told, "You’ll never be perfect." But then, I realized that perfection is broken. It's fragile, it's weak, it's flawed, and it's beautiful. Tears became my rain. They became my joy. I spent days in hospital rooms while my mother's tears caressed my heart with their perfectly warm hands. Those tears fought with me, fought for me, lived for me, and died for me. At the age of 15, I saw perfection, again. I saw it in tears that broke out of the confines of hazel brown eyes and ran like a heavenly river of honey through the maple-sweet soul of a broken honeycomb. I saw perfection in a cracked looking glass. At last, another portal to the land of rainbows and diamond-white tears. Another girl, my girl. You should see the way she holds me. You should see the way she kisses me. You should see the way she loves me. You should see her. Because then, You would finally understand... that perfection is not perfect... It's more like a cracked diamond, a messy apple-pie, a fading rainbow, a giant spoonful of Nutella, a mother's tears, red petals that roses wear, the smell of freshly shampooed hair. A girl who talks to herself. A girl who talks to my heart. A girl who made me feel like I was four-years-old again. Earth's lucky charm. My baby girl. Lexi. I love you

• 
  Precious Whispers (1 poems about Selfworth)
  IG | @precious.whispers
• 
  Awwab Paracha (1 poems about Selfworth)
  Born in Pakistan but currently living in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. February 14, 2005