I Stop Hating Myself

Siloma

Siloma

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Sometimes I feel so down
Worthless, a belt short of its buckle
Sometimes I feel like a cheap spray
Or perfume that smells like sweat

I get to my knees but things get tougher
I wail to God asking Him why
He doesn’t seem to come through
Though He says He is absolute and true

I curse and resent my life
I become self-piteous sailing through the strife
I think of suicide, rather than abide
To laws that I think get me into captivity
And a life getting harder

But again in my strolls
A dirty sad-eyed kid asks for a coin
As her mother holds her coughing boy
With an outstretched hand and a dirty bottle
Clenched between her teeth, sniffing
Probably to make her drowsy and numb
Of the chilly cold and incoming rain

I remember I have food to eat
Through acquired in struggle
I remember I have shelter
Though a scuffle with the landlord
Ensues every end month
I remember I have clothes to wear
Though worn out and old
I look at my life and my basic education
And the street family in fear and tension
And thank God for my life
I repent of how less I though of myself
How I ignored the blessings I had
And chose to focus on my falls
Rather than my strengths

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