Do you love yourself?

do you love yourself?

well?

do you?

or do you tolerate

the trembling echo

of your own reflection,

shivering in the glass,

while dust settles 

in long-ignored corners,

like tiny tombs of promises

you swore you'd love again

everyone says “fake it till you make it” —

but do you?

does it work?

do you even want it to?

will you ever be happy,

staring in the mirror,

tracing the cracks you imagine,

hating every refracting angle,

waiting for the glass to break?

does the image bleed,

or stay shiny & clean?

did you catch the shards 

as they scattered?

the drops of blood that

pretend they mend the pain —

or does it sink,

deeper, quieter, buried, 

as if it never mattered?

sometimes i wonder —

what am i trying to say?

who needs to hear it:

me, or you?

sometimes you don’t even despise yourself anymore,

do you?

you just float 

in that quiet fog,

like smoke after a fire,

as indifference masquerades as impossible peace —

& that scares you, doesn’t it?

but sometimes i feel softer, steadier,

uncertain, yet lighter —

(untethered.)

i think:

maybe i am happy,

even if it still surprises me.

you ask, “is that a good thing?” 

& i ask,

“do you still doubt it?”

I can smile — 

I don’t have to fake it anymore.

not for show,

but because I can

& I want to.

the weight doesn’t vanish all at once,

but I learn to carry it differently —

letting some fall,

holding the rest close — to listen,

to understand,

to honor.

love comes in many forms —

like light reaching into shadowed waters,

returning what was lost,

like the healed hand 

I learned to hold out to myself.

do you see now?

even the cracks let light through.

do you love yourself?

“I think I do,”

I say to you,

in the quiet 

between fracture & repair.