All these somebodies love you, sweet Darling,
so why, even after all of these years,
don’t you try to love yourself?
Yes, dear one, you’re your own worst enemy.
When did your own inner rebukes first germinate,
by another’s casual but unkind observation of your actions,
or did you mix up the poison all by yourself?
What was the first doubt, the first self-deprecation?
You don’t ever remember, don’t you?
Don’t you notice the ones watching you close-by,
they would run to catch you if you fall, when you do fall,
but you froze up, so you couldn’t fall, or feel
as the smile you painted on still remains on your face.
Why can’t you trust us, dear one?
We can listen and help you out —
Even the strongest trees bend in storms,
and they seem dead during Winter, even when they’re not.
You are not dead yet.
You are valued and lovely, and we want you alive.
The blooms are coming soon, and so will you, eventually.