“I raise up my voice—not so I can shout, but so that those without a voice can be heard…we cannot succeed when half of us are held back.”
―Malala Yousafzai
Another one bites the dust. A potential companion swept under the rug by their own hand and their own broom.
What do I do?
What do I say?
What do I radiate that makes me not fit?
Some may say I am not pretty enough. At least not under this makeup.
Some may say I am not thin enough. At least not under these clothes.
Some may say I am too intense. When I haven’t taken my meds
Some may say I am too strong-willed. When I speak unashamedly.
Perhaps I am simply too loud.
How long have I been numb to my own insecurities? How long have I been bowing down to the pressure of ‘not good enough?’
Too long. Too long.
I am here. I am breathing.
My body is unique. It has marks, and bumps, and bruises, but there is no ONE like mine. My gift.
My voice is strong. My laughter fills up the room and reminds those around me that I choose happiness. My gift.
My emotions bring me colour. I have looked in the mirror and asked myself if I feel too much. I feel just the right amount. The question becomes acceptance, becomes love. My gift.
From this day forth I don’t apologize for the gifts I have been given, not even to myself.
I simply pass my gifts to others.
Wild Water and Wanderlust 