Our worst enemy is ourselves
For after the voices of hate
Which follow us from birth
Are silent in the night
The echoes of their beliefs
Still resonate in our ears.
One could argue then
That memories are the foe
But that is not so,
For it is that fact that we’ve digested
And have accepted the suggested
Falling prey to the suppositions
And to the dispositions
Of those that mocked and teased.
But it is only when we’ve labeled
Those laboured breaths as true
That they can truly haunt us.
Though true it is that they still hurt,
To know some feel such ways
Especially those close enough
To claim to know and understand you,
You are not your flaws
Not your spotted complexion
Nor your fragile, broken composition.
Made of from which worlds bloom
Even broken and dying you give life
Are empowered to touch and change
Capable of creating for yourself
A world worth living in.
Moonlit Poetry 