Hypocrite

May. 2025

Eyes that will offer kindness to others,

Now sharpen to weapons against myself

The healer with hands that won’t touch their own wounds

Because when my heart was torn to shreds

It didn’t make me stronger. 

It made my soul weak and scared. 

So I’ll preach self-compassion like gospel

“Rest when you need it,” I tell you gently

“You are worth it too you know” You’ll say

How can words make me nauseous? 

What hypocrisy lives in this divide

Between the grace I give and cannot receive

The standards impossibly high for one

And impossibly low for none but myself. 

Perhaps someday I’ll learn

To be my own friend

To speak to myself

With the love I so freely give away​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​