umpteen

"I am not my circumstances.
I am not a victim.
I am better than my worst day.
I am loved and worth loving."


My mirror mantras.

I tell myself these things
a bazillion,
a googleplex,
umpteen times.

And yet,
the things I remember:
perceived insults of youth.
Sly barbs from peers
who were peerless in their
prickly prickery
latched on to my skin
and dug down
like parasitic worms
feasting on the flesh
of my esteem.
And the words
I mouth,
and mean,
struggle against
a memory of meanness
like diluted medicine
and I will them to work.

"I am not my circumstances.
I am not a victim.
I am better than my worst day.
I am loved and worth loving."