Self-Image

Written during sophomore year.

So there you are,

you turn your self-hate into a joke.

It’s just that much easier,

isn’t it?

You can’t be shallow and deep at the same time,

so you work for your rep,

shallow and uncaring.

But the thing is,

I know you more.

I’m blinded by this image of more,

and you’re not so shallow.

I know there’s something in you,

something that makes you die

more and more each day,

and gives you this need for shallowness.

You laugh it off.

You laugh it off because it’s easier

than letting people in.

It’s easier than feeling.

So I guess in that way we’re the same.

I know pain when I see it,

especially in you.

And the reasons,

whatever they may be,

that you depended on this

artificial happiness,

the reasons they locked you up,

the reasons you try and take your life,

are the same reasons,

repressed or not,

for your self-hate and insecurities.

You can’t get to know yourself

because you never quite admitted to yourself

who you are.

Do you want to know?

If only you knew how I felt.

My God, if only you knew how I felt

about you,

your deeper self,

and your attitude.

But if we just keep laughing it off

we’ll never get too much deeper.

We’ll never learn.

We’ll just still regret.

You’re worth so much more

than you give yourself credit for,

but I don’t blame you.

But do you even know your self-image?

How do I tell you

that I swear

that I believe in you?

How do I tell you

that I swear

you

are

more.