Dream Big

Is it a possibility that being self-less can lead to having less self love?

I probably make you hate me even more daily cause I can never build myself up.

You prolly see through the empty carcass I hold. And wonder where did my precious soul go.

I fell past the point of saving, I’m damaged cargo.

Shakin off the self hate.
Healing at a mollasses pacing.
The words we're screaming were too flagrant.
Let's bring it back to kinder days.
And focus on the life we're making.
Building patience into my everyday.
But still needing faster elevation.

Shame om the devil.
Taking my first and only love from me at the time I needed it most.
Spreading the seeds that made me question my manhood on the daily.
Destroying the frayed threads of peace I had sewn into my routine.
And sending waves to shake the vessel I had weakly built in my teens.
You see the storm that's within goes unseen.
And the smile that I wear is a mask so you's think these waters I wade in are crystal clear and pristine.
I went down with my sinking ship because self pity is easy. 
Shame on me for beleiving 
That I was less than any other man, life was decieving.
The embers that caught flame had burnt down the fragile wall of confindence that was remaining.
I danced along with the devil and he rewarding me in pain.
Thats the scars that we gain from playing a losing game. 
I miss my unfractured heart 

Thank you God for the path that I am walking.
Although my blistered feet have grown sore.
Piece of mind isn't on the plan anymore.
Talking to the lord hoping to keep my spirit pure.
Caught up in the lore of winning small battles while also hoping to win the war.

Hang drying my compressed emotions but then the rain pours
It's like God decided to trouble the waters on my tear stained shores. 
Then washed up a message in a bottle saying I should my share pain more.

More often than not I keep it all locked behind a one way door. 
Til thoughtless pops made me wish I had healed my strained sores.

These days I tend to see sunlight before I lay my head down.
My mental state's astray.
Better to ask forgiveness than permission but all my favour has run out. 
So I bleed the ink into the page,
Use up that good karma I had saved for a day like today and pray.  

God knew my ruptured heart.
The light losing the battle with the dark.
We're worlds apart. 
Love had left my ego scarred. 
I'm less a man and more a coward.
She holds my spirit's peace that's a lot of power. 
I'm a withered fallen flower.

Soulless emotions and dirty hands.
I loved too hard in the shadows of another man. 
The tears that rained on me came from another distant land. 
I was slipping away and love missed the grab. 
Pray that this deep depression leaves again. 
Or that the shattered heart I wear finds the glue to mend. 
Or that blessings sew the threads of my splintered plans. 
These calloused palms clasp tight through the reprimands from losing faith again. 

Unwanted. Like the last drip of water in the cup.
But I still could nourish or save you.
Unnatractive. Like smears on glass.
But still you look as you walk past.

For all the malice I've directed at my reflection...
You would've thought by now I'd have learned the disadvantage. 
I haven't felt good about myself since that two year window where all of this felt manageable. 

I'm bull headed and damaged goods.
I'm like if april fools was everyday.
The burden on laboured shoulders that feels like heavy weight.
You know the one that got away? 
But it was better that way anyways.

I know that we define our own successes as much as we define our failures. In these last 3 years I’ve known two successes. But everyday has become a series of failures. I’ve found myself in a never ending slump.

I keep my eye locked on the tiny, ever fleeting glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. But I’m walking along a sharpened Bermuda limestone clifface and the light I’m chasing is the setting sun.

The only 1% I know is my better days. Because that’s the percentage of good I feel like I’ve experienced. And

I’m been missing a bit of self grace.
But mending a broken heart is a dark and lonely place.
My flaws were hung out to where only my spirit could wear them.
The broken me doesn’t fit who I am now, but I still have to heal him.

I spent a year drilling nothing but negativity into myself.
I cried more tears than all the water I could possibly consume.
God whispered to me that I would possess the strength and here I am having barely made it through.
Grief is a bottomless pit housing a tape worm and the pity I spewed was all the food.   

What is a broken man to do?