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  • Writer's pictureBirds Without Gender


For years

I have been emotionally unaware of my own self-hate

I mean,

knowing my life story

judging by my addictions, fears and unhappiness

I knew it was there


Mentally I knew it was there

But emotionally to feel what it means - I am telling you-

What a moment of full glory for spiritual pain

The absolute experience of fragmentation

The biggest part of my existence torturing the biggest part of my nature

Constantly shaming, judging, rejecting and bulldozing

And every time I intent to even approach some inner space of self-love

The two awake in fury

Both the abuser and the victim

They both protest

They unleash their trained beasts




They are resisting their integration

And so am I

In my learnt habits

With my established comforts

Despite all intuition, inspiration, and inner wisdom

I watch myself resist happiness

I watch, as if there is nothing I could do

(there might not be anything more I can do,

more than what I am already doing)

But as I try again and again

Little attempts to infiltrate my system with some self-love,

They feel like deep transversal incisions in the nucleus of self-hate

And every time a little bit more is released

And every time,

some hours after,

I get this subtle urge to do something nice for myself

I find this is a good sign

But it requires that with every attempt for self-love

I am willing to feel the pain,

The actual, real, raw pain of

How much

And in what ways

And for what reasons

I have always- subconsciously- hated my self

Since I was very very little

( a baby? Or even a foetus?)

I struggle to remember if I ever experienced something

emerging from the subconscious to the conscious,

which was more painful than self-hate.


Text by Birds WG ( extract from my unpublished collection of awareness poetry "The meaning of my words")

Drawing & photo by Birds WG

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