This poem was written in May 2015 and published on Wattpad originally.
Edited: 3 July 2024 (spelling and grammar corrections)
When you have someone who supports you,
helps you at any time, it's easy
to do something, because they see
you, they have some idea, a picture of who you are...
That's why...
It's easier to help someone than yourself,
because you believe in them and it's
hard to believe in yourself.
It's very, very hard to believe in one's own self,
it's hard to give hope to yourself if
you're not sure, it's hard to...
trust yourself...
So, you need to believe in yourself
for fairies will disappear if you don't
believe in them.
Summary: “I’m sorry,” Jisung kept whispering, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to hold your hand, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you getting eliminated.” Minho sobbed harder, clutching at Jisung’s shirt until his knuckles were white and he was afraid the fabric would rip in his hold.
Jisung’s world seemed to stop, however, when Minho whispered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to debut with you.”
Warning: negative self-image
Genre: angst and fluff, Jisung/Minho of Stray Kids
Word Count: 634 words
Minho was tired. He didn’t know how else to put it. There was no eloquent, poetic way to phrase such a simple emotion. He’d been eliminated and then thrown back into the world of idols. He’d lost all hope and clung to the permeating emotion even after he’d returned home.
Despite Felix’s desperate hugs from outside the door that held their happiness, before they’d been let into the room with their family, despite Chan’s tears when they were alone once again, the nine of them… despite Seungmin’s warm arms and Hyunjin’s apologies… despite Changbin’s choked apologies of not being able to stop the pain and Woojin’s heart wrenching sobs, clinging to the younger, begging God to let him stay this time and Jeongin’s close-mouthed sobs as he held Minho’s hand during the evening’s movie… despite the sweet kiss Jisung had given Minho when they were alone in their bedroom, Hyunjin and Seungmin moving to another room to give them the rest of the night in private...
He was tired. He was tired and felt that he didn’t deserve to be there with the other eight.
Jisung and he laid on a bed together, facing each other in the darkness. Jisung leaned forward again, movements desperate as they linked lips once again, tears mixing between their lips, tongue coming to wipe away the salt. Their lips moved quickly but not painfully as they both gasped, breaths hitching every once in a while with a particularly harsh sob. Finally, though, Minho broke his lips away, breathing becoming harder and harder whether Jisung’s lips were there or not.
Jisung moved to hold him close instead. “I’m sorry,” Jisung kept whispering, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to hold your hand, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop you getting eliminated.” Minho sobbed harder, clutching at Jisung’s shirt until his knuckles were white and he was afraid the fabric would rip in his hold.
Jisung’s world seemed to stop, however, when Minho whispered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough to debut with you.”
Jisung felt like his world was collapsing at the sincerity that laced Minho’s words. Jisung pulled back slowly. “You really believe that?” Jisung asked, voice thick. Minho kept his head down and expression blank as he nodded and Jisung’s breath caught as everything turned silent. The white noise had stopped and they were left in silence as Jisung tried to understand how Minho felt.
Jisung pushed Minho rather harshly onto his back, moving to straddle him so Minho had to look at him, tears clinging to his eyelashes. Minho looked tired, dead, and just laid there as Jisung planted his hands on Minho’s shoulders. His voice was angry, heavy with betrayal and lingering distress. “You were good enough! You were always good enough, Lee Minho! JYP is just a shitbag that wanted ratings! Don’t you understand? They were for drama! Ratings! It wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It wasn’t ever because you weren’t good enough...” Jisung voice diminished at the end and he choked on a sob. “Rapping isn’t your forte. He knew that. You’re a dancer…” Jisung’s chest stuttered as he sucked in, trying to get enough air.
“It isn’t-- It wasn’t ever your fault,” he whispered, pulling back, arms wrapping around his own waist. It was mine. It should have been me…
“It wasn’t your fault either, Sunggie,” Minho whispered back, a hand coming to wipe at the wetness on Jisung’s cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault. You helped me so much, it wasn’t your fault.”
Jisung nodded once, twice, thrice, before moving back down to hug Minho, arms tight around his waist. Minho gripped his back just as tightly, holding him as close as possible.
“We’ll be okay, Jisunggie,” Minho breathed, letting sleep take him.
“I love you,” Jisung exposed to the darkness of midnight.
I love my body because she is so capable. She is strong and sturdy and she can do so many things. She can lift heavy packages for her friends and family. She can keep an even pace for endurance races. She can stand and move and dance and jump and walk up stairs. She can't always regulate temperature well, but we're working on that. She even looks pretty dad gum cute in some of those outfits that just 🌟work🌟, you know?
So, yeah, I do love my body, because she can do so many things and she's so very capable.
...but when the clothes come off? She feels too off-colored. Kinda splotchy and veiny...rolls in weird places, dips in other weird places...lines that COULD be considered elegant if they put in just a little bit more effort...asymmetrical. Not thin, not thicc, or even really thick. Just kinda....here?
And I often find myself worrying...could someone who I find attractive, funny, lovely, gorgeous, interesting...also somehow find all this appealing as well? Even if they could look past the things I worry about in my personality, in my intellect, could they find my body appealing or interesting?
Ugh... this is probably something a lot of people struggle with, I understand...but man...I think I'm feeling lonely and kinda scared. I love love so very much...but I want it.
I'm not saying this to fish for compliments... I'm just talking.
I hate that I feel like shit all the time. I hate that I have to hide it. I hate that I can tell that people I love are suffering the way I am and they won’t even accept sympathy, because they think THEY have to hide it.
I hate that I can tell that my baby sister is low right now, and she won't do anything, and when I give any indication that I’m concerned or that I worry for her, she treats me like shit, which I, a person who already feels like shit, do not need.
I hate that my little brother was raised to believe that you have to be forthcoming with your anger, regardless of who it hurts, if you are to show any emotion whatsoever, because anger is the MANLY feeling, and other emotions, or methods of dealing with said emotions healthily, are weak.
I hate that I do everything I can to make my loved ones FEEL LOVED, even though I never have myself, and I get less than garbage back. What’s the effort even worth.
maybe that sounds ridiculous, maybe it’s “first love syndrome” or whatever bullshit they’re calling it now. but i think my reasons are legit.
imagine it. for the first time in your life, someone of the opposite sex that you like, that isn’t a douche, a creep or a troublemaker. actually takes an interest in you. we’re talking mutual interest. and he enjoys talking to you. he thinks you’re pretty, and interesting, and worth spending time on. and he’s not in reach in your head because your self-esteem is the worst. but somehow the stars align to bring you said person. the catch is that they’re 5000 miles away. of course it couldn’t be that easy. so you like this person and they like you and they’re far away but you give it a shot anyway, because what do you have to lose? best case, you see them in person someday, worst, the whole thing drops off early.
so you try. you try so hard. you like this person so much, maybe even love them, within the first two months, but you don’t want to say it because love is big. love is not to be fucked with.
but they say it first.
and your heart explodes because what you thought was you being crazy is… well, not. a person that you love really, truly loves you back. and you’re together, at least in spirit, which is all you have at the moment.
and then it gets hard. distance hurts both of you, strains the relationship. you learn the other isn’t perfect, but you get over it quickly. perfect is boring anyway. you’re going strong. you talk things out when it gets tough, talk as much as possible. nothing else you CAN do.
then he gets frustrated. it isn’t enough, there’s too much distance, not enough contact, and he is upset. thinks about breaking it off. you get it, of course you get it. you’re frustrated too. but the thought of actually being able to be with them in body someday drives you forward. you’ve waited this long, right?
but it doesn’t matter. he’s given up, you can feel it. it takes months, but you can sense the decline at the very beginning. and then he snaps.
“i think i’m gonna do it this time. for real.”
“do what?”
“break up with you.”
and if you’re like me, you aren’t the begging type. you can’t force him. so you let him go. no fuss. tears behind the scenes. maybe you snapchat or tweet about it ambiguously.
and a week later, he wants you back. you tell him no, even though every part of you but your brain is screaming yes at the top of their lungs.
the brain knows, though, that if the conditions don’t change, the outcome won’t either.
so you “stay friends”. you were friends before either one of you had the courage to pull anything, but this isn’t the same. this isn’t anything.
five months. two conversations.
you know he’s around. his social media is still up, you see it sometimes. and you can’t help but push back tears every time you hear a love song. and your heart skips a beat when someone says his name, even if it wasn’t really HIS name. and you think about him all the time even now.
but you can’t talk to him. it hurts too much. and you can’t ask the questions you want answered the most.
do you regret it?
do you think about me as much as i think about you?
sometimes, i really fucking hate working with mostly men, like my office suite has about 50-some people and there are maybe 10 women in that room. all of the women that work there are friends and are badasses, but hearing the dudes talk about other women the way that they do, eats at your brain after a while, to the point where i start to internalize that shit all over again. i'm a lot more conscious of it, but it still gets to me, and i catch myself talking to myself like an asshole. needs to stopppp. and my self-esteem is in the absolute dumps.
the part that i get mad at myself about most, is that i allow other to effect my self-esteem.
