Tag Archives: creative writing

The truth about myself: A story on self-hate

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I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my stretch marks
And the irritation they often cause
Although they are reminders of a joy that now completes me
I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my small boobs
And the big thighs that rub too
Although they make me look good in blue jeans
I still can’t wear short shorts
Or skintight dark jeans
I am learning to accept myself
But I hate my big butt
And the way it pops out of every dress and begging always to be seen
Although it frames me in pencil skirts
And long gowns that flow in summer’s sun
I am learning to accept myself
But I can’t stand the thoughts
That my legs are marked with spots and dots
Hanging thick in black boots
And falling short with mini skirts
Although I must confess they carry me far
On long walks and fast runs
And my dainty toes sure look good in flats and such
I am learning to accept myself
But my hair sheds at the sight of comb
And itches from the root up
Although they are as dark as late nights and
Fall fine to cover my freckled face
I am learning to accept myself
But…

© Boomiebol 2014
5/17/2014 9:38am

 

His Love

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His love makes me a better person
It lifts my head up on days of doubt
Taking me to leaps and bound
It fills my core to pop and plump
Like sugar candies rice and such
His love moves my heart like tidal breeze
Delighting my mind for days to come

4/29/14 11:04pm

I am thinking of a poem

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I am thinking of a poem

Title: I am thinking of a poem

It’s the image or glossy picture of a butterfly in my book of poetry
With a caption saying something simple like;
“There is beauty in the world”

I am thinking of this poem

*image courtesy of google

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Mama

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I think of you when I sleep
Just before my head finally hits the pillow
After a long day of “hard” work
A night of rest becomes a blur
In the mind of my back
(Assuming my back had a mind of its own)

I think of you at dawn
When the girls wake and ask for a cup of hot milk
Their big brown eyes still heavy from 10hours of sleep
I yearn for you to be there taking great care of them
As I roll to the other side and sleepily mumble
“Go to grandma”

I think of you at 7pm on Saturday nights
When I have to scrub their back
And I ask that they bend slightly so I don’t reach so hard
My back belabored from a long pregnancy begs to rest
Cracking with every move I make

I think of you when I sleep
Recapping the day in the front of my mind
Just before my head hits the pillow
And I can’t help but wonder
How different it all could be
If you were here and around