And, when I turn to look at me,
I bare my teeth and growl
And think, with such a sight to see,
That even saints would scowl.
And, on and on, my grumbling goes
As I put myself down.
As such, I’m like a one who shows
Their sores around the town.
But then I stop and think of you
And bash myself no more;
I can’t be ugly through and through
If I’m who you adore.
And then, at last, I realise
I’m not just lovely in your eyes.
Photo by Ravi Pinisetti on Unsplash
Self-Realisation
