i love my self ... You are not small. You are not unworthy. You are not insignificant. The universe wove you from a constellation, just so atom, every fibre in you comes from a different star. ... accept yourself as a work in progress the continue to build yourself into the person you’re dreaming to be; the person you have all the potential to be. accept your flaws, accept your truths. accept your past. and make light of them. no one can tear you down if you make peace with who you are and where you’ve been. if you are going to focus on the negative at all, focus on turning them into positives. focus on growing. sometimes, often times, our minds are the scariest place to sit. it’ll trick you into comparing yourself to others and it’ll trick you into believing you aren’t good enough. but you are. you have always been and you always will be. you’re much more powerful when you believe in yourself. if you don’t love all of you, who will? give yourself time to blossom. —Reyna Biddy who taught you to unlove yourself so sweetly that you actually thought it tasted good? —Alex Elle I’ve spent So much time At war with Myself, I have Forgotten I am the walls of my home Forgive her, and she Will forgive you, too No matter how many times You asked her to break —my relationship with my body —Wilder The universe took its time on you crafted you to offer the world something different from everyone else when you doubt how you were created you doubt an energy greater than us both. —Rupi Kaur Together, you are bound by stardust , altogether spectacularly created by the energy of the universe itself. And that, my darling, is the poetry of physics, the poetry of you. —Nikita Gill ... The Poet and His Song by Paul Laurence Dunbar A song is but a little thing, And yet what joy it is to sing! In hours of toil it gives me zest, And when at eve I long for rest; When cows come home along the bars, And in the fold I hear the bell, As Night, the shepherd, herds his stars, I sing my song, and all is well. There are no ears to hear my lays, No lips to lift a word of praise; But still, with faith unfaltering, I live and laugh and love and sing. What matters yon unheeding throng? They cannot feel my spirit’s spell, Since life is sweet and love is long, I sing my song, and all is well. My days are never days of ease; I till my ground and prune my trees. When ripened gold is all the plain, I put my sickle to the grain. I labor hard, and toil and sweat, While others dream within the dell; But even while my brow is wet, I sing my song, and all is well. Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, My garden makes a desert spot; Sometimes a blight upon the tree Takes all my fruit away from me; And then with throes of bitter pain Rebellious passions rise and swell; But — life is more than fruit or grain, And so I sing, and all is well. ...