Desperation doesn’t dance in my lair no more,
ancient lands where false paradise laid in store,
I drag my feet, trail my hair,
catch myself in a transient mirror,
I stare, lower gaze, then bravely rise,
continue to stare some more.
It’s difficult to gaze into ‘imperfections’
that make myself me,
my mind calls out with interjections,
telling myself I’m exactly the way God intended
me to be,
self-acceptance,
understanding,
it slowly grows like soft moss within,
flourishing,
lush,
promising,
plush and ever-green.
The sadness that used to plague,
the desire, the want, to always change,
the need to shrink, slim,
now I raise a hand craftily,
cock one hip,
I am cheeky,
for I know the secret here,
I became more within,
image doesn’t always have to fuel
internal fires,
in fact,
focusing out the outer can fuel
a dangerous inferno,
an unwanted din.
It is what is within that counts,
am I happy with how I’m feeling,
that matters most,
am I confident,
can I take my world in my stride,
get up upon that rhetoric in life,
and ride, ride, windswept, breathless,
in control,
ride?
With maturity came preservation,
with preservation came self-understanding,
comprehension, direction,
I know what truths I am sowing,
even without the drive to direct in just one direction,
I know, I know that my heart and mind
are peaceful together,
they’re becoming a solved puzzle of
correct interaction.
My soul doesn’t call out for acceptance,
no longer calls out for
painfully obvious acknowledgement,
I don’t need the eyes to
view what I already know,
that my presence is enough,
I am enough within this world.
My heart, once a prison,
is a cage thrown open,
the dove is free for escaping,
but she remains,
treasured,
adored,
she is amazing,
her own form of perfection,
in short, she makes it.
© 2021 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved.
Photo by Fuu J on Unsplash
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