The phenomenon of not being comfortable
In your own skin
Is sadly ubiquitous.
At which point of our development
Do so many of us lose
Our child-like curiosity
For the world around us
And transform to become beings consumed with ourselves?
We stare into mirrors and screens
Longer than we gaze across oceans and horizons
Our mirrors only breed crushing disappointment
At what we find in our reflection
Which always seems to fall short of what we imagined ourselves to be.
Satisfaction seems illusive at best.
When did the world shrink
To be small enough to
Revolve around us?
Low self esteem isn’t humility,
It’s convoluted pride:
We stare so long at our feet
We forget to walk with others
Being so full of our dissatisfaction with ourselves
That it leaves little room
For anyone else.