My heart is hurting
Because I am doubting,
Myself.
It seems as though others hurt me
But I don’t believe
They really have that power.
They only make suggestions
Of things I could believe
And I am only hurting
When the truth that I perceive
Says something is very,
Very wrong with me.
I see you beautiful one,
Sitting in contemplation.
You fear that it is true.
That you are something less than whole.
Something less than love.
Something less than you.
The intoxicatingly beautiful you,
That you know you truly are.
Why?
Why do you entertain these thoughts of less than love?
Why would spend your time in any place but bliss?
How does it serve you to revisit this,
Seemingly endless train of thought,
That has only brought,
You pain from the first time you entertained it.
You are loved.
You are love.
End of story.
Stay there in the reality of love.
Love those who doubt you
Love you who doubt you
All is well, always,
In the reality of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem