A Taste of My Own Medicine
i’ve recently gotten into the business of dealing good thoughts, taking my own daily prescription and distributing it to others. i’ve got it all, kindness, compliments, support, forgiveness. Sure the money's good but i’m weaning for a taste of my own. But you see, i can’t swallow my pills. My obsession with perfection gags at the thought of it. i hate myself for hating myself, which is ironic in itself, but i wish i saw myself like i see you. i want a bear hug from self love, i want my skin to be embroidered with forgiveness, i want to change the viewpoint of my eyes. They say you gotta love yourself before anyone else can but i’ve been feeling a bit iffy about that. Because i need a stepping stool, even a ladder at times, a push over the cliff so i can dive into the depths of acceptance. i know this is true because i have been the stool, i have been the hand and now i’m just waiting for mine, a taste of my own medicine.