Blue Jeans are Mean

Months of work on my self esteem
Years of being ok with my little imperfections

All forgotten in one afternoon of jean shopping.

All I can think to soothe my fragile, shivering ego is a lovely Regina Spektor lyric:
"I've got a perfect body, but sometimes I forget. I've got a perfect body, 'cause my eye lashes catch my sweat"

Labels

Some labels assume action.
For example, before I got a nursing job, I would tell people I was a nurse because I had the license and the title. The next question was inevitably, "Oh, where at?" The label of "nurse" assumed that I was, somewhere, somehow, actively being a nurse.
I believe that to me, the title of "Christian" should be the same way, a label that assumes action. That by carrying the title, you are somewhere, somehow, actively being a Christian. Whether you are in the unreached parts of the world telling the good news or simply spending your time actively and intentionally loving others around you, you are earning that label.
So when we say that we are Christians, let us live in such a way that their next question will logically be, "Oh, where at?"
Does that make any sense?

Find me

Find me that love that makes me a better me and not a better us
Find me that love that's for who I am now, not the person that I was
Who would want to obsess over me?
I will admit, I've been broken before and the glue is wearing thin
I will admit it's getting harder harder to let anybody in
But there's more to me than meets the eye
Someone might see, if they just try
Who would want to obsess over me?
Maybe my own love can set me free.

Painting

I've been painting with my eyes closed lately
The colors and strokes haphazardly strewn about the canvas
Guided by my impulses, guided by the hands of those around me
I open my eyes;
Before them, a reckless, violent piece of art I don't recognize
My signature, scrawled in red
In the bottom, right-hand corner.

Forgiveness

I can forgive you; I just don't want to.
Forgiving means letting go of the anger,
and as ashamed as I am of this, I enjoy being angry.
Being angry with you is so, so much easier than missing you.

sorry

Don't read this. Go to stumbleupon.com or damnyouautocorrect.com and smile, because if you read this is will only depress you.
I was the most optimistic, open, loving, happy, care-free child ever.
Now, I find myself incredibly pessimistic, bitter, jaded, hopeless, and unhappy.
I don't know that I even believe in the things I once held in the highest priority.
I don't know that I believe in love.

My beat is correct

I'm not perfect, neither are you.
I'm not perfect, but I am at peace
I'm at peace with my faults, I'm at peace with my scars and callouses
For the very reason that they are part of who I am
And despite the blow done to me at your hand
I like very much who I am.