I like to think of myself as a walking contradiction.

Often misjudged,
I walk on.
I've come to far to be told otherwise.

A walking contradiction I may be,
Born by sin,
Hated since then,
Told to be nothing more than a burden,
I still walk on.

I may not be an oil painting,
Though it has struck past midnight,
I see my own beauty in a different way.

Scorned to be nothing more than others hatered,
I walk on.

I see my beauty in my own heart,
I hear it in my voice,
I see it in my eyes,
I feel it in my soul.
Something I figured I never truly owned.

My love for myself comes in small quantities but,
The pride I have in myself shows in my footprints on concrete.
The mud on my boots,
left by sins I'm left to carry.

I've worked too hard on myself,
I've come too far,
I've seen too many dark days,
I've been through to many sleepless nights,
to be called anything other than a beautiful walking contradiction.


© FragmentsInTheWind