Insecurity


I am at a constant battle with myself.
Today positivity is a worthy contender,
yet insecurity is a seasoned opponent
and salt on an open wound is so very excruciating.
Throughout the course of my being
I have convinced myself that pleasure is not worth pain,
and it continues to be my favorite excuse for refrainment.
Unframed, the self portrait often demotes itself to
but a mere photograph
and I so desperately want to see the bigger picture
with a higher resolution.
While the noticeably worn edges tell their own story of exhaustion,
the fingerprints often go unnoticed.
My cheekbones are contoured
using bronzed high definition self assurance
preceded by a quick sweep of poise on the lips.
Perhaps some white liner in the waterline of the eye
so as to avoid having "Insomniac" calligraphed in bold
between my temples,
and canceling out the tear smudged liner in onyx just below it.
Craving to be devoured yet questioning its existence,
my agony is white noise and all too often hearing is selective.
Damaged with the amount of potential that the naked eye cannot see,
it's imperative that the surface is polished.
a retouched finish for a near flawless appearance
because I'm working for tips today
and unfortunately thank yous don't pay the bills..
There's no pressure but the weight of the world,
and it seems so shallow here,
yet I'm nearly drowning.

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