I casually thought of this poem I wrote for my poetic short film, Skin Deep.

And with it, the thoughts about my journey of self-hate and low self-esteem

The poem is in conversation with itself as well as the persona, with his inner self, whom he sees as a reflection in the mirror in the short film.

There’s a shift in the poem, a crescendo— where the emotions build, rise, and ultimately break into something new.

The final section, which is the ‘acceptance’, is exempt from this post. 

What is the best way to live?

How did we come to be? 

And what will become of us when we are no more? 

Does any of this matter? 

Is there a meaning, a depth to this emptiness? 

At times, I feel this body ain't mine. 

Like it was loaned to me or 

Like I am just a stranger in a stolen body, trying to get by.

I feel lost, uncomfortable and not at home. 

Unwelcomed, estranged, in my skin.

 I feel like this is not where I want to be.

 Or who I want to be…

How do you get rid of the emptiness that fills you—

the insistent want to be someone you are not, 

to meet society’s standards?

Society wounded me

and got revolted by my scars—

the very one they seeded.

They impaled me,

left me broken, wounds opened,

Blood gushing out, 

the pain pushing out, 

then acted as if they were the ones bleeding.

How do I learn to live within myself 

when all I want is to live outside it—

to peel off my skin and be free of it 

but then I find it is too attached to me,

 a shame not in disguise? 

And I hate how the sun makes me feel—

exposed. 

Vulnerable. 

My flaws clear for the world to see. 

I want to be a bird, 

a free bird, 

lightweight, 

soaring in the skies. 

Free of these fears.

Let the wind whisk me away, 

maybe I will find peace. 

Give me wings, 

draw me an escape—

maybe behind those faraway clouds, 

tucked in those whites, 

this gnawing pain will take flight too. 

I hate my skin. 

I hate the way it looks, the way it feels. 

I hate myself.

I hate my body, 

the way it mocks me. 

I hate this life, 

I hate to live this way 

with a pain that lingers and abides. Each day.

I see misery in those bolted eyes.

I hear the wails from your muffled lips. 

I taste the havoc brewing deep inside. 

I smell the disdain in the guts of your heart.

Break free. Invade the pain.

I can see you in Wings and Halo.

Make haste. Be not the blain.

Be ye revived, hallow.