DEMONS OF A HAUNTED PAST

This is the story my life has written
Disappointment; I have always been
A perfect model of disgrace and all that deserves no praise.
Never found deserving of second chances and glory, for I am never worth.
The worst error being tirelessly trying to make ample a situation- find the upside to demise.
Even if sometimes wrong in the tracks I take.
I can only justify it by correcting the damage that already is; after all I can’t rewrite history.
But now these demons have crossed the line, a sacrifice of self that’s only resulted in loathing and regret, In the name of something greater sought.
Is this really how ugly the truth is, why the encouragement to live truth then if all it does is bear pain and confusion?
Why is it that the worst regrettable acts are the ones that dictate the life over beauty and contentment?
Inspiring such writing of self pity and self loathing, is this to say I make up for the love I don’t have for myself by expecting it to be filled by love from another?
If that’s the case how come I am able to fully love another, regardless of flaw and short fall if I do not have the same kind of love for myself, is that even possible?
And how come others can’t forgive me for acts I've already forgiven myself for? Conditional huh?
This is what one gets for trying to live life by putting others before one’s self.
Then again if it’s the other way around, it’s qualified as vanity...wow!!!
Is there ever a right strike of balance? Can right ever be done without sacrifice?

QUEEN I!

Emotional roast, who are you mature eyed Nubian queen?

What song sings to the rhythm of your swagger?

What lotion lathers that softness in your touch?

And what colour painted that tone in your rich, sultry defined voice?

Were you a man, you would be suave, chivalrous and charismatic... Down to the core, but your being woman qualifies you all that plus; graceful, regal, intelligent and lived.

The world hangs on your hips and the truths of life curve with the tenderness of your lips

Your eyes; a fountain of a thousand stories told, traces of hurts undeserved, beams of affection and compassion practiced...to little recognition!

Your smile, a glow of ivory that illuminates and calms all that is around it. Your happiness and joy continuously gathered from strengths built and experiences outlived by your prowess and tenacity.

Who are you coffee skinned lady, skin inspired by the earth you tread on with such grace? Who are you my sister, with your back gone carried and born more loads than a tow truck?

Perceived weak because of your meek and tender method even by those you keep cradled in the recesses of your heart still?

Your silence often times mistaken for submission...still, you remain! Because you are a lot more than words spoke... or justification sought.

Who are you my sister and why do I see so much of you in me, or could it be I AM you? Yeah, that's it!

However undervalued and often unappreciated, the you, you are, is what has inspired great authors, artists and poets all the way up to the heavens! You are; God’s little perfect!