Friday, April 23, 2010


It is hard for me
To come to terms with me.
I would love like to be
I am not able to.
I look in the mirror
And see failure
Others look at me
And see beauty
That is more than skin deep.
I am imperfect
I have a flaw.
It cringe
When you speak about it
I try to run
Yet it follows me
I am afraid to look at me
What I would love to see?
Is not what I see.
It has taken years to get here
I was told I have low self esteem
You were dead wrong.
I have learnt to live with rejection
You ask how?
Only I know how.
God made me like this
But he gave me other abilities
That are way beyond and above your intellect.

©thelma migue, 2010

From the cizoepoetry collection.

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