It’s so easy to love,
so hard to love ourselves.
So easy to give heart
To someone else,
as if they were more worthy
of our love.
So easy to want to concede
To our neighbor
What we are unable to give
To ourselves.
As if love
If it were a cheap commodity,
as if we
were on sale.
but yet
We can and must be the first
To use words of affection,
support,
of understanding
and esteem.
Not like others do, outside of us:
with words
that underline our mistakes,
harsh destructive criticism
and little to build on.
Once they told me
That I was too good to myself,
today I know,
that it was the others who were too severe
and who speak like this
even with themselves.
And now I know,
that that is not love.
He is only son
Of a distorted way
And toxic to love
And to educate.
If I did like them,
maybe, I wouldn’t have friends.
So I want to be
My best friend.
.
.
.
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Thank you!
Lo scrittore Volante 