Work in Progress

I can stare at the mirror and never see my own face
because I never see past
the scars and the wrinkles and flaws.
Over and over, I’ve torn myself down
and sat brokenhearted on the ground,
looking for someone else to come pick up the pieces of me
and put them together in a way
that might make me feel
p r e t t y.

I’ve neglected my body and burdened my soul
with the weight of my own indiscretions.
I was given a blank canvas and with my own two hands,
in every pure, white space I scribbled a mess.
And once the ink dried, I added a layer,
and on that foundation I’d build
for the next twenty years.

Until one day, I realized the portrait I painted
was nothing but pigment caked onto a page,
haphazardly slopped into indistinct shapes
and the colors had melted into dark, murky gray.
So I stepped back to evaluate the masterpiece I’d wasted,
and the time that it’d taken to
reach a point when I could admit that I was just as lost
as the missed opportunities behind me.

And as someone who hates to admit fault,
it’s hard to admit all the wrongs I’ve done
victim and actor were both myself, but the self-harm
I inflicted wasn’t the kind done with a blade.
It was with
my
    own
          two
              hands.

I’ve spent over half my life as my own worst enemy
and the decision to try and repair what I’ve done to me
will take just as long as the journey to get here,
I know that better than anyone but, now, for the first time,
I’m ready to try.

Because somewhere from the depths of all of the gray,
a beautiful pigment of blue was created,
it brought more than just color to the miserable page,
it gave it a reason.
She
     gave
           me
                a
                   reason.

So now, I work slowly, but out of determination,
I chisel and scrape with my own two hands
at the canvas before me, layers of bad decisions
flake off all around the place where I stand.
Progress is slow, and at times, frustratingly so,
and I mind my steps down the line as I toe
between pride for my efforts and cringing at flaws
that I notice much more now that I’m trying to make...
a r t ?

I’m as much a work in progress now as ever before
but now there is an active attempt to be more
than just a photograph of a woman standing at the back of the group,
hiding herself from seeing her own truth
and living each day, hiding insecurities with laughter.
I’ve made myself the punch line for so long, it wasn’t until after
I faced the fact that everyone can already see the flaws on the surface,
that I accepted that those cannot be changed until I fix what’s below it.

This time, there is a story to be told
of a woman who learned how to finally be bold.
I’ve focused my mind, set my sights on tomorrow,
I’m scraping and painting away through my sorrows
And while I cannot erase all the damage I’ve inflicted,
I can paint a whole new picture.

So I’ll spend some time picking up pieces of myself, long abandoned
and put them together in a way
that makes me feel
w o r t h y .