low ebb comes, again
my sword, shield against
dragging hurt, out of reach
comes cyclical thoughts
not good enough, not good enough
not good enough, not good enough
not good enough, not good enough
till comes a realization, late, so always late
like a dish accidentally pushed to the floor
you think, “why didn’t I see that?”
comes, comes, comes
this thought, this meditation, this intention
fuck you
fuck you this hurt
fuck you these tears
fuck you this insecurity
fuck you this deep-seated
self-anger of “I’m not good enough!”
fuck you, I’m going to do my best
if others don’t like it, not my business
fuck you, this hurt
fuck you
photo and poem © by DC Lessoway
DC Lessoway 