I see all of my flaws, my attributes are hidden.
My view disgusts me.
My truth is I see unworthiness.
You can't tell me it's not there. I won't believe you.
You can't tell me that it's not true. It is for me.
I have been living with it for a long time, dodging and weaving, ducking and hiding, ignoring, yelling, fighting it.
His death makes me see.
I can't ignore it.
I will have to deal with this.
The little girl in me is in full temper tantrum.
All I can do is hold her, tell her it will be ok.
That is the only truth that matters, I guess.
It's also the one I fully believe.