This poem was originally going to be an essay, but I’m not sure that’s the direction I want to take this blog.
When I was growing up, and even now as an adult, I try to talk to my parents about concepts like self-esteem and self-love. And they just. Don’t. Get. It. It’s like there’s no room between self-hatred and rampant egomaniac with these people. And they definitely think self-hatred is the only “moral” choice. I’m getting mad again just thinking about those conversations.
Self-esteem? Self-worth? Self-love?
That’s what they call those words.
People who love themselves?
Better that we hate ourselves.
Put our hearts in little wooden cages.
Make sure the walls contract,
Squeezing us down.
Until there’s nothing left