On a background of twisting crimson, gold, and purple flames, the following poem is written in a typewriter font:
guilt says ‘i made a mistake’
shame says ‘i am a mistake’
that realization Just hit me all over so i knew i had to share it
it’s this concept, well whole ass belief for us, that we embody shameful existences
yet none of us are shameful,
who we are is inherently worthy and deserving of pleasure, joy and safety.
we absolutely deserve to take up our needed space simply because we are alive
we exist therefore we are wholly worthy
feels hard as shit to believe most of the time.
but it’s a starting point to reframing language in the internal asshole brain department
fighting back against this brain injury
that just has further perpetuated itself
healing doesn’t have an end point
but rather
lil pit stops along the way
to better understanding and
fuller days of love, compassion, joy
and deeper emotions
even as much as they are
wretchedly
painful