Comparison is killing you.

Okay yes ,it’s long, it’s sad, and it’s a little dramatic. But it’s mine. And I think someone out there might just need to feel understood today. This came out of one of those days. Maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s honest. So here’s a poem. From me to you.

They say comparison is the thief of joy.
I disagree.
Comparison is the thief of life.

Because is it really living
if every time you look in the mirror,
you wish you were somebody else?

If the only thing pulling you out of bed
is the quiet ache of waking up
as the same person you tried to escape last night?

Is it living,
if you fall asleep crying,
obsessing over every little thing they are

 that you feel you’re not?

Are you even here?
if your mind is stuck replaying
everything you gave,
and how it was somehow never enough?

Are you even living? 

Do you feel the warmth of the coffee your mom brought to your room—
The quiet love she stirred into it?
Do you take a second to lift your head and catch the smile
A stranger tries to give you on the street?

Do you even care that someone, right now, is cherishing
Every breath you take
While you obsess over the one that didn’t feel quite right?

You are everything to someone.
Even if you haven’t met them yet.

If it feels too hard
If you feel like you’re not good enough
Try, just for a moment,
To be less cruel to yourself.
Because when you hurt you,
You’re hurting someone’s daughter.
Someone’s future wife.
Someone’s Best friend, 

All because they woke up as themselves.

So, try again.
Drink the damn coffee.
Let it burn your tongue a little- at least you’ll know you’re alive.

Look up. Smile back. Or don’t. 

But don’t pretend the world isn’t trying to love you in its own quiet way.

Be here.
Not the version you’ve been Photoshopping in your head.
Not the character you think they’ll finally approve of.
Just you. The real, hot mess, loud, or shy, absolutely important you.

Because that’s living.
Not chasing perfection. 

Not disappearing or avoiding.
Just showing flaws, fears and all.You don’t owe the world a prettier version of pain.
You owe yourself a damn chance to live.

Love,

P