I hate the way my body looks—
I’m in no way smart—
For some reason, everyone hates me—
It hurts my aching heart—
Instead of lying in the dark
With tears streaming down my face,
I work up the courage to do more,
and I start to make progress at my own pace—
Progress to lose weight.
Progress to get better grades.
Progress to not care what others say
when they unleash their verbal raids.
Day by day, week by week,
Progress starts to show.
It wasn’t up to my expectations,
but it was better than ages ago.
Even though I won’t be perfect,
I will always be
a better person than yesterday.
There isn’t anyone I would rather be than me. •