Insecurities

The major insecurities are always physical. It’s your stomach, your feet, your legs, your nose, your cheeks. There’s always something about yourself you don’t like, and that starts flashing red the instant you get ambushed by a mirror. It’s all you can see, and it doesn’t matter how good the rest looks, it’s the coherent portrait in the middle of a Pollock painting. It’s a banana viscously inserted into a beautiful Turner storm. 

Of course there are mental facets that you’re not a fan of, but they’re the ones that you con yourself into thinking you can hide from public consumption, bury under general effusiveness, bad jokes and a winning smile. You can’t get rid of this nose, even if you did want to just spite the face, because frankly a noseless face wouldn’t exactly be preferable. Doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about it.  

But you’re being ridiculous. No, really, you are.  

Everyone has insecurities, because that’s the way society works. It tears down the things you think make you strong, and leaves you exposed with your weaknesses, to be laughed at. The worst part is that you help them; you pull apart your strengths just as much as they do, and then feel all the more worried about the things that someone once said something about that was maybe not the most flattering. 

Fuck ‘em. 

You’re beautiful. You’ve obsessed over that one tiny blemish for so long you’ve lost sight of things. You don’t realise that it’s because of that tiny blemish that your face works, or your body looks as lovely as it does. You don’t realise that your habit of making stupid jokes at the wrong times is the reason that someone is going to love you some day. Just let go of it all. Take a moment, think about it for a second, and then let go.

The greatest thing D/s has ever done is put you on a fast track to self acceptance. I can tear you down for things that you aren’t, while emphasising the beauty that you are. I call you a slut and then kiss that nose, I turn your arse a lurid shade of red and then dress you up to show of your stomach, and call you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen because of it. I obsess over you in the way you obsess over your flaws, and frankly my dear, my obsession is just a little more powerful than yours.
And as for my insecurities? You blow them all away the instant you call me a beautiful name and do exactly what I say. Because why on earth would a creature as beautiful as you ever do something I say, unless I’m worthy of it? 

You make me worthy. And I make you beautiful. It’s all rather lovely.

 by My Trousers Rolled