Worth Self Poems | Examples
These Worth Self poems are examples of Self poems about Worth. These are the best examples of Self Worth poems written by international poets.
I am not quiet,
Not easily forgotten,
Yet somehow
Still unseen.
I feel it,
In the bones of my being,
This weight of being
Unappealing.
Not the kind
You’d walk toward.
Not the kind
That draws eyes or hearts.
It’s not like me
To say, “I hate myself,”
But sometimes,
That silence speaks louder.
Strangers
Faces I’ve never met,
Mouths that never called my name,
Eyes that never really saw me
Still, they judge.
They know me better than I do,
They say.
They define my shape,
My walk,
My worth.
And so, I wear it.
Their truth becomes mine.
And you
You’re beautiful,
Unique,
Undeniable.
You can see me.
I cannot.
And though it’s not like me
To admit this ache,
This shadow inside,
It is still me.
Still here.
Still hurting.
I plucked the moon from the sky last night.
No one else seemed to be using it
So, I thought, “Why not?”
I mistakenly thought it would fit comfortably in my pocket
But, it bulged, protruded, and made it difficult to sit!
“Stupid moon!
What good are you?” I grumbled.
A TV news anchor rattled on about
Potential collapsed ecosystems, climate chaos, and mass extinctions.
All around me
Would-be lovers unraveled their arms and parted ways and
Dreamers no longer looked to the sky.
“The world has gone mad,” I muttered.
“But, at least I have this shiny rock, even if it IS a pain in the rear.”
However, it kept tugging, pulling, and wouldn’t stay still.
Determining it not worth the trouble,
I relinquished the object to the night
And went to dwell in a crazy world.
What shades of colours do we paint
while walking on this earth?
Do we leave behind a masterpiece?
or a squiggle with no worth?
Will the colours that we choose
look vibrant, - do they shout?
Or are they like dull grey lead lines
so easily rubbed out.
Are all the brush strokes that you paint
precise, done with finesse?
Or are they like thick crayon scrawled
on paper in a mess?
And will you hang upon a wall
admired by the best?
Or stay unseen and never shown
Remain an unfinished sketch?
The colours that you choose in life
portray your inner self.
So, are you rich, red, powerful paint
or a shade left on the shelf?
You could be bright and beautiful
in orange, yellow, green.
Or does your glossy outer fade
and quickly lose its sheen.?
Are you a calm and turquoise- blue
just like a tranquil sea.
Or do you live with black or grey?
that’s all you’ll ever be.
The colours in my life are prime
though that can be changed.
to any shade I choose to be
if mixed or rearranged.
Seek out the artist in your life
ensure he paints you true.
Be one to stand out in a crowd
there’s only one of you.
In a rather egotistical
and pathetic attempt
to immortalize myself,
in something I lost,
everything.
And now that I’ve burned
all of my bridges and I’m drowning,
the only thing I have left
to do is work.
And it's not working.
And the only ones
praising my work
are little kids,
the same age I was
when I broke everything.
Lucky me.
I watch them do
the same foolish things,
reaching for pointless dreams,
immortalizing themselves
for no one and nothing.
What I wouldn’t do
to have something,
and what I wouldn’t give
for something
worth saying.
Empty words
look prettier
when they’re
written in blood.
And trust me,
it’s dripping
straight out of
my pen tip
and into my lungs.
I wish that
instead of pneumonia
I had amnesia.
Maybe then,
I could forget about
all of this.
After poem for "How Do I Love Thee?" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I offered you trust, an open door without locks, My heart lay exposed, vulnerable on the rocks.
You entered with a grin, words sweet as honey, But your exhale was ice, your caress felt phony.
You spoke of my glow, then left me in the dark, Filled my mouth with verse, but your questions missed the mark.
I poured truth in your glass, you gulped it down, Then smashed it to pieces, leaving me with a frown.
Your grin sang me to sleep, your gaze was a trap, You stripped me bare, wrapped in a spiritual wrap.
You cut deep where no looking glass could see, A chuckle laced with poison, from which I could not break free.
You embraced my hush, then made it howl, Left traces in my nights, making me scowl.
Now I walk with whispers you would not claim, Building self-worth from the leftovers of shame.
I grin like embers—cool and exact, I have learned the price of sweetness and tact.
So if you return to sample what is left, You will meet a girl who has swallowed her theft.
after still I Rise by Maya Angelou
They said, "too loud, too wild, too much"—
so she learned to burn with a softer touch.
But thunder lived behind her face,
and silence wore her fiercest grace.
They carved her worth in smaller space,
then crowned it "grace" to know her place.
But she was made of deeper things—
not ribbons, rules, or borrowed wings.
She didn't rise to please their gaze,
or fit inside their staged displays.
The ground they gave was false, contrived—
so she rewrote it just to survive.
Now every step is storm and flame,
they whisper wild when they say her name.
But she's not theirs to dim or tame—
She rose. She roared. she burned the game.
~hira ~
We both jumped off a cliff,
I fell
You flew
We both went for a dip,
You swam
I sank to darker hues
Each night my dreams play
On replay
These similar troublesome tales
Yet the day brings the light
Which reflects the words I only dare believe
From your eyes
And the rhythm of your heart
Beats several strides slower
Just so mine can catch up,
Even though you've always been faster than me
What I mean is,
I'm the kind of gal whose EQ
Can't tell the difference between
"I appreciate you" and "you're a loser"
And my whole being can't understand why you never
Give up
On me
And after all I've been through
I'm also that one who's too afraid to
Pray for a miracle
Even though
God gave me you
I might be working the
Rest of my life
To see what's right in front of me
But even I'm not dumb enough to know it's worth it
to be of use
without abuse
there’s no excuse
a bit obtuse?
well-cooked my goose?
slide on the noose?
that I refuse!
slip on my shoes
spread the news
do not confuse
it’s not a ruse
but what I choose
I’ve paid my dues
I wake up heavy, hollow-eyed,
a war inside I cannot hide.
My chest is full of aching glass,
each breath I take, a splintered gasp.
I try to speak, but words betray—
they twist my truth, then slip away.
They say, “Just love yourself, be kind.”
But how do you hug what you can’t find?
I look for worth in others’ eyes,
but all I see are blurred goodbyes.
I give too much, I break, I bend,
and wonder why I’m not the end
they choose to stay for, hold, defend—
I’m always just the in-between.
I wear a mask too thick to peel,
a smile that lies, “I’m fine, I heal.”
But I’m unraveling at the seams,
a stitched-up soul with silent screams.
I scream in silence every night,
a voice that knows it has no right.
To need, to want, to just exist
without conditions, without lists.
How do you love a heart so torn?
How do you hold what self has scorned?
I search for proof I’m more than pain,
but all I find is rust and rain.
Still… I wake. I rise. I try.
I walk beneath a darkened sky
and hope, just maybe, if I stay—
I’ll learn to love a piece someday.
I radiate my inner glow—
like a well-polished precious jewel,
pleasing to see, with graceful height.
My handsomeness: a masterpiece of art,
driven by keenness to shed excess fat,
yet I still stand out like a star in the crowd.
My eyes radiate warmth that melts ice—
as deep and mysterious as a star-filled sky.
My smile, a gentle breeze—
a radiance that brightens all days.
Gentle as sleep, yet fierce as a lion,
depending on how you perceive my calm.
But I am a true gentleman—
like weather: mostly mild, sometimes stormy,
yet with a heart of gold,
veins of its worth hidden underground,
bringing forth joy like sunlight when unearthed.
The glory of my gentleness spreads wide—like wildfire,
yet remains near enough to be felt and tasted.
After all, the proof of the pudding is in the eating.
Sharp as a whip, with a lightning-quick mind—
bright as day, as sly as a fox,
a tower of knowledge
filled to the brim with real wisdom.
Every day, fire burns inside me near my heart of gold,
bringing forth brilliant ideas...
like a burning torch
illuminating every dark corner of ignorance.
Just be my friend and experience the wisdom I represent.
“The Prismatic Self"
As I lay in my bed trying to figure out what to write
My mind goes blank and my creativity is way out of sight
The need to write the perfect poem and rhyme
Keeps me from getting anything done, until I have run out of time
“Why can’t I just write like I would any other day?”
Because the thought of the contest continues to lead me astray
My mind can’t stay focused on the task at hand
So I start to do other things that were not planned
Eventually I start to get into the mood
Then I get hungry, so I get up to eat some food
The reason I go through this process each time I write
Is because It feels really good when a spark of creativity takes flight
I always finish what I started, even if it takes a while
The stress and inner turmoil is worth it, if I can make someone smile
So if you were to ask me why I write and embrace the stress
I would have to say it’s because of the people I may impress
So now as I lay in my bed trying to figure out what to write
The mirror in my mind stays at ease knowing that the end is in sight
I may repeat the horrific steps all over again
But my creativity is a stage and I hold the pen.
Self Esteem Ode
You look at me and judge me
You hear me and you leave
But I don’t care
You may trample me with your insults
But I don’t care
I figure you have something I don’t
Or maybe I have something that you lack
But whatever the case may be
My head will stay high
I am proud of who I am
So what do you think?
As long I think I am good
That is all that matters to me
So I hope that one day you understand
That you are not better than me
You may have more skills
But you don’t have one very important thing
That thing that makes you worth it
So if you ever want to be as good as me
Try to have more of that self love
You don’t need money
You don’t need looks
You don’t need skills
What do you need?
You need self esteem
The feeling of love towards yourself
What I have and you don’t
What makes me better than you
What makes me more than you
Because I my friend, am the face of confidence
before you allow
anyone else to trespass and trample
violate your mind, body, and soul
take time out for isolation and self care
no matter time needed; weeks, months, years
find, get to know, and accept your authentic self
learn to embody your self worth
so you can accept nothing less
than what you deserve
therefore stopping trespasser before they
trample on your mind, body, and soul.
she used to shrink
inside her own skin
wore doubt like a coat
stitched too thin
but broken glass
still reflects the light
and jagged edges
sharpen the fight
now she stands
where my fears once laid
building worth
from the cracks they made
she is gold in the dirt
still gleaming unseen
an unfinished masterpiece
bold and serene
black boy Joy is not just noise
it is a voice that should be heard from word to word
like thunder in the clouds or a lion roaring in the jungle they should hear the rumble not your grumble
speak loud and proud cuz you're black will never be silenced or unbalanced
your joy is created equal just like any other people peacefully we have March for years
and shed it many tears endured whips and chains through all of the pain
we manage the gain knowledge of self worth when we insured our Legacy and Scholars
they try to hold his back but now we got a fist full of dollars
they tried to destroy our forefathers now look at us where doctors lawyers judges and even made it to the White House
showing that anything is possible if you believe that you can achieve greatness in this world
black boy Joy is not just noise