The Storm Uphill

Always has been 
exhausting-

And maybe

shy of impossible-

To like yourself,

to fight for yourself,

over and over

and over

again.

To insist upon 

your beauty

your worth
your relevance.

To climb uphill 

every day

willingly

rejecting the screams from the mirror, 
the scale,
your own filthy
expectations...

Ripping up the old tapes,

burying the lies.

To tell yourself

the truth

and

to believe it.

To fight that hard- 

constantly-

to really, 

really

believe it.

And then-

nothing 

can shatter me

quite like you.

To have 2 hours of your life

On any wooden floor

strip you naked

dry,

and take back 

everything 

you've fought for.

To beckon the girl inside,

the one who wants 

nothing more than

to 

be

something,

But won't hurt anyone

in the process.
Who isn't

falsely composed

and high 
on shitty,

empty promises

Someone who wants it.

Not 

for the wrong reasons.

To be back at 0.

Because it's never enough

to just 

go against 

the competition.

No.

You compete against 

your defeaning

impossible

past.

Your toxic

scarred 

memories

And you forgot it, but
they always know how to win.

And,

you know

how empty it is

to 

hate 

you,

again.

Self hatred

is a storm

that hits

at the 

snap 

of

fingertips

And

I'm never 

quite

ready

for 

the rain.