Borrowed Bodies

Trust me, no scar goes unnoticed. 
No insecurity unseen.

The scars quit literally, and not much so.
I’ve learned to not take seriously, unless you find a scar on my soul. 

Ignorant intelligence, only a fool knows it all. 

This body most are enthralled with.
These eyes that steal your interest. 
Are just borrowed parts, paid for with experience plus interest. 

From an early age, I never could comprehend. 
Why a borrowed body was placed on a pedestal so high. 

Why does it matter the beauty you see externally? When one day you and I, will be six feet beneath. 

Please ask yourself, the next time you feel inadequate.

How many spirits are wealthy?
How many mansions in the hereafter?

How much is a buried diamond worth?

How much more did you emphasize sadness over laughter?

Now stand in front of your reflection, and hear the clock ticking faintly behind. 
Each second that passed, never to be relived. 

Continually disempowering yourself. 
Panting through life, unable to breathe deeply. 

Afraid to connect with something less superficial. 
Self criticism eating away at your core. 
Ripping and rushing, fleeing your fears. 

Stand still young sir.

Now breathe.

Decipher why it is, that you are so hard on yourself.

Beating down a body, you can’t afford.

A loan of some sort.

Keeping up with an image, but what prize will you ultimately find? 
Did you ever stop and realize? 
That not one person makes it out alive?

Now when that clock stops, and the rhythm of your heart seizes.

The fact that your paychecks never increased. 
Does it matter now? 

If this second your eyes lose sight, deafened by the loudness of silence. Will that promotion, that breakup, that argument hold any weight? 

In this generation so hardened by the fears of intimacy, and inferiority. 
Obsessed with the tangible. 
We lose sight of the important content. 
Like how one feels, disregarding what one sees.

So much stress put on perfection.

Ultimate burials.

No redos, no corrections. 

Do you hear the clock ticking?

You just lost a moment in time.

Please release the fears that you aren’t good enough, smart enough, beautiful enough. 

If what occupies your mind won’t matter six feet beneath, then release

The richest man, poor.
The most beautiful women, basic. 

Humble yourself, young sir. 
One day you and I will be the same.

Next time a fool belittles you for what you lack, let them know.

That our hearts beat the same.

Same rhythm.

Please learn to respect the difference in rhyme

We’re all in borrowed bodies, killing borrowed time. 

Ps. I wrote this poem so long ago, I read it like it wasn’t mine lol. I never really understood the fascination with a borrowed body, in a way its always kept me humble. Although morbid and blunt, the message in ‘Borrowed Bodies’ is the harsh truth. Whenever I or anyone close to me are too hard on themselves, ripping their self worth in half. I gently remind them. “You and I are in borrowed bodies, and on borrowed time, perfection will never be an option on this ride we call life. Be gentle with your body, and mind.

Let go of the pressures. YOU ARE ENOUGH! 

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