At first I’ll only reveal a tenth of me/and you’ll believe that I am weak/because I appear so quiet, sensitive, sweet./But I am strong when I need to be/and all of those internal brawls with myself have made my spirit bloody and my soul darn gritty./I have often been described as cute, not pretty./I can assure you that I lived so much of my life feeling plain/that I have learned to harness some complex powers,/like thinking that blooms with gorgeous flowers./But I have grown accustomed to this since I don’t want to be noticed, I want to be seen./And reality is rarely inspiring to me/so when it demands, I flee/through the back door of my mind’s garden./There are flowers and a blank canvas there, beckoning me./I’ll paint you a portrait of my fantasy./I can tell you surely that you will not be in it if you cannot compete with the thoughts that bloom brilliantly there/in my left of center brain./If you cannot undress my weirdness/and yet remain./And I have faith in God, but I also have doubt./Sometimes, the only spirituality I can summon is to inhale the word I and exhale the word believe/right before I drift off to sleep/and dream the dreams only thought-gardeners can dream./And I like to turn the volume up on the feelings others don’t want to meet./Longing and nostaglia are comfortable to me./So if you want to know what self-deprecation looks like,/why melancholy feels deep and happiness feels weak/just ask me./I drift in despondency like it’s a bottomless sea./But all of this is still only a tenth of me.

//A Tenth of Me, 4/22/2019
//Collette Kristevski