Feast of Self-Compassion

A table full of dinnerware and a feast of food fills the photo. In the foreground, an arm is extended through the center of the picture lighting the wick of a candle.
Photo by Rachel Claire from Pexels

Last week, I was told I had self-compassion.

I cashed that check, took the balance,

and debited it down to the last drop.

This week, I am licking the bottom

of the self-compassion barrel.

Attempting to lap up any remaining

drip, morsel, crumb…

I have tried so hard and yet the flavor

is gone, the barrel is dry,

and I am parched.

The tears I cry,

taste of doubt, regret, weak confidence,

and a backslide into old patterns.

The breaths and sighs I breathe

move me through the moments of

waiting, of frustration but do nothing

to season my emotional soup

to resemble the feast of self-compassion

that I had last week.

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Queer Writer & Poet | Sex and Sensuality | Health and Wellness Interests | Personal Experience | LINKTR.EE/TOLBERTMBB | Instagram @tolbert_on_medium

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Tolbert

Tolbert

Queer Writer & Poet | Sex and Sensuality | Health and Wellness Interests | Personal Experience | LINKTR.EE/TOLBERTMBB | Instagram @tolbert_on_medium

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