The Scars We Cover Up

He was a true craftsman, a poet, an author, his mastery of words was his charm, and he was a true reflection of self-confidence. He had style, class and determination that reflected through in that all he did.
He had come from a broken home, with a torn heart, horrific images of his father strangling his mother, hence he breathed hopelessness, his blood boiled with rage and his stomach had endured hunger pains as “daddy” drowned in another green bottle.
As he randomly chatted up random ladies and often was complimented for his charisma, optimism and sense of humor, no one ever noticed the scars in his heart, covered by godly designed ribs and flesh, and a perfectly peaceful smile.

She had a million dollar body, shaped like an hourglass, timeless, and a billion dollar walk to compliment it. She had a perfectly cheerful smile, bright and beautiful, and her confidence could move mountains, or so most people thought.
She had been blessed with a baby, and simultaneously cursed with a clumsy operation that cut almost half of her stomach off, it was now a scar, but still a fresh wound to her that bled uncontrollably every single night she uncovered her expensive garment.

She had a perfect life, so he thought.
He had a perfect life, so she thought.

My Self-Esteem

To say I have a low self-esteem would be a lie, although I’m sometimes skeptical to call it high.
I think of myself as average in every possible way, and that’s just euphemism for dull as they come.
I do not drink, smoke or club, I spend most of my time indoors writing articles, reading books and watching documentaries on how to acquire wealth; I’m as dull as they come.

When I was younger I wasn’t a very fluent speaker, my aunt would imitate my sloppy voice that I grew up too afraid to voice my thoughts and feelings fearing focus would not be on my content but rather my “funny” voice, funny isn’t it?
In high school I was “slightly” overweight, and at home they treated being fat like a “deficiency”. I remember my aunt showing me the Eddie Murphy movie The Nutty Professor so I knew “the handicaps of being fat”, as if the tight pants that I wore in grade 9 weren’t enough torture, and the fact that a girl I used to crush on once spanked my ass because it looked like a girl’s, damn it.

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I have never been handsome, smart, excelled in academics or athletics that I was a center of attention, and Lord knows how desperate I have been to get noticed somehow.

Am I confident in myself though? I would like to think I am. I have made peace with my “deficiencies”, focused on maximizing my strengths, and realized that what really matters in life is how you impact other peoples’ lives whilst just living your own, hence I have made it a personal mission of mine to make people feel good about themselves.

Again, am I really confident? I am not confident that if I ever asked Beyoncé out she would say yes, but I am confident that with my words I can make someone feel good about themselves as much as I’d like to believe Beyoncé does about herself.

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My aunt really screwed me over, but I’m partly to blame, I should have known making one more sandwich on a full stomach was a bad idea.

I have really struggled fitting in the society, so much that when I think back of college I only imagine the weirdo my classmates must have figured I was, and as for the rest of the schoolmates I doubt they even noticed me as I was defeated by painful hunger pains, abusive background, bad choices and a paraffin stove odor; I have truly come a long way.

God has blessed me; I have been through a storm and because of it I have learned some of the most valuable lessons in life; some which are more valuable than everything I ever learned in college, combined.

And for the last time, am I really confident in myself? Yes, so much that I don’t even need to prove it to no one. My life matters, I know it, I believe in it and I let it shine through every fiber of my being without making it anybody’s burden.

Amen.