It climbs from the east.
Those beams that signal a new day
and the promise of a fresh start.
That offers the chance to shed the past,
like dry, unwanted skin
flaking away in the wind.
That brings renewed optimism
and the possibility of favorable terms.

And I sigh

I wait under my covers
and hope it will retract,
to plunge the world back into darkness.
But I know it will not
So, I force myself awake

The mirror reflects me:
Dark circles
Fine lines
Red eyes

My body betrays me:
Tense muscles
Heavy limbs

And I recite my mantra:
You are strong; you are special; you are worth it.

She tells me that if I repeat the words enough,
they manifest into reality.
The woman who claims that I am normal,
then gives me pills to silence the thoughts.

It doesn’t work, though
I’m still weak; still broken; still defective.

But I repeat it anyway.

I repeat it when I feel alone and empty inside
You are strong; you are special; you are worth it.
When my hands and feet are too heavy to move
You are strong; you are special; you are worth it.
When I’m dissecting and deciphering every sentence spoken throughout the day
You are strong; you are special; you are worth it.

But I’m still weak; still broken; still defective.

And when those beams fall to the west
to signal the end of another wasteful day
I reflect on my mantra and ask myself why
Why I’m not strong, special, or worth it.
Somehow, I know it’s because I don’t believe
In my mind, I’m still weak; still broken; still defective.

Editor: Erynn Crittenden