Étiquette : dignity

To love yourself (is such a painful job).


To love yourself is such a painful job
How would anyone sane apply for this duty ?
When it takes little effort to self-loathe, self-destroy,
To ruin every best piece of your personality.

In a more realistic common sense,
It is a hard enough task to give yourself respect.
And I mean, it’s a full-time job as well,
Just to keep your dignity, your balance and values,
A true sense of who you are, and who you’re not.
But you don’t have to love yourself at least…
What a high commitment to impress on your daily behaviour,
On your conscious and unconscious way of living.

To love yourself, it’s someone else’s job.
And who’s that brave for such intense giving ?
Except your parents really, who would this burden self-impose ?
You might be lovable, sure, yet even so,
You’re only one in the many.

There’s a less hypothetical chance
That you’d be taken care by someone else
And this could mean a lifetime job as well.
So if you’re blest enough to find protection and concern,
Avoid resentment against whom that keeps you from self-pity,
From all your « nobody cares for me ».
Surely someone does, whoever they might be.
Then it’s your painful job not to resist, not to break free.

People walking solitary (on a springtime evening)

I believe in people walking solitary on a springtime evening,
Who’re not drunks, hoboes, or weirdos,
Who’re not junkies or pushers,
Hustlers and hookers,
None of them typical midnight freaks.
Who’re not even walking their dog,
Or joining a free party in the woods…
It might seem unlikely,
But they just need a little talking to themselves.
And whatever the season, I guess.
It only goes nicer in May.

Their face is an island of sanity
Amongst every gathering of loud, drunken and gross people
Overfilling the space even two hundred yards away ;
Those who make you change direction,
Not by security,
Yet for the sake of quietness.

Their silhouette is a shade of dignity
Amongst all predatory occupation of a street,
Or a simple byway.

They seem to walk their line,
And this lane of intimacy
I’d never mean to swerve.

I believe in you
Solitary girl, solitary boy.
Let the night be yours
And tomorrows be more sensible and reasoned.

You don’t behave like you want to hurt someone,
Or like you want to hurt yourself.
You don’t seem to believe that the earth is flat.
You just think better on your own.

And I believe in your thinking,
Whether I do agree or not with your thoughts.

I believe in your thinking,
And I believe in your walk.

—

(Drawing by Edward Hopper – « Night shadows »)