Tell me I'm right.
Tell me I'm worth
every bit of your time.
I'd absorb the words
as if they meant everything,
as if they meant nothing.
They'd wind me up and
keep me going until I
couldn't take anymore of myself.
I'm told I need to put
myself first.
My own mountain of beatings
would mean more to me
than a profound little compliment,
and the mountain will topple.
Tell me I'm beautiful.
Tell me I belong in this world.
I'm left in a cage
so that my negativity
can orbit around me,
leaking only slightly from the bars.
It rusts the metal, and it hurts to hold.
Tell me I have the key
to release.