|Please forgive the bad quality of my window photo, but its the best I could do.|
Guys, this post is poem is long. But its my heart right now. I wasn't sure even sure about posting it, then a very dear friend said I should, so here it is.
I look in the mirror
Do I really like what I see?
No, not at all.
I don’t look like what I had always imagined
I don’t look like any of the other beautiful girls I love.
Oh, people say I’m beautiful
Friends post about how I am perfect just how I am
But they aren’t me
They can’t know
The disappointment I feel
Every time I look in the mirror.
Why did I have to turn out like this?
When there are so many girls that turned out perfectly?
Why was I the one that got cursed with this?
People tell me it’s just fine.
But they are all perfect.
They don’t know what it’s like
To look in the mirror and see
Things out of my control
Things I never would have chosen
Things that will take years to get rid of
But I’ll never be like those perfect size 0-4’s.
I simply cannot be that.
It’s not how I was built.
It seems unfair
None of my friends look like me
And I still hate what I see
But maybe, just maybe
God made me to be something different
Maybe there’s a reason I was made this way.
Maybe this thing I hate
Was God’s perfection for me.
I still feel hatred towards it
But, have I asked Him to help me
Let that hatred go and actually do something?
Maybe I should just stop hating it and learn to live the way God wants me to
Because how am I going to be different from the world
If I hate the same thing everyone else does?
Shouldn’t I hate
And not myself?
If I really believe
That God made me;
I should know
That He made me
Just how he meant to
For a reason
To fit into His plan
How can I look at what God made, and hate it?
How can I, claiming to be a child of God, hate one of His children?
How can I look at myself and say I’m not good enough?
When God made me
With His own hands
With His plan in mind
With love and tenderness
He would never make
Just like me
And He knew
There was a reason for everything
That I call a flaw
He knew he would never make two people alike
Because we weren’t meant to be who we wanted to be
We were meant to be what He wanted us to be
I can learn to
Love the ‘imperfections’
The things I can’t change.
And who am I
To question God?
Because, He’s told me
And I believe Him.
Sometimes, it doesn't even help to have people say you're fine the way you are, you have to decide for yourself. Have you ever had a moment like that?