I’ve been thinking of the many versions of me.
Not the ways other might interpret and see,
But the many iterations that have occurred.
As I’ve lost, found, and continued to learn.
The 3 year old me with red cowgirl boots.
Curious, smart, and ready to loot.
Or the spelling bee champ desperate to achieve,
If I could just beat my sister, maybe my parents would believe
That I was worthy of love with no strings attached.
But that love never came so I began to detach.
By 8th grade knowing that the world would go on
If I could just disappear or keep moving along.
So tired of sobbing behind my rooms’ door
With knees to my chest, curled up on the floor.
Shoved all of that down – and continued to smile.
Fooling even myself for quite a long while.
Captain for soccer, in band I took lead
Searching for the right garden, while always the weed.
Not knowing my worth, I gave what I had.
Sleeping with too many Daves, Joes, and Chads.
Not for the pleasure that good sex can bring,
But wanting connection, ending up as the fling.
Ten years go by and I “finally” get married.
‘Til death do us part? My results greatly varied.
Alone again, so what’s my big plan?
To be good on my own and not need a man.
Or a woman as the case might be
Who limits where loves from? Surely, not me.
But again I fumble and devalue my worth,
Convinced I’m unlovable due to my girth.
So I read and I learn and I put in the work.
I know I’m amazing, but get ghosted by jerks.
So time to regroup, stop dating full stop.
Work on myself to change my backdrop.
Now it’s been years and where am I at?
Mostly good on my own and more accepting of fat.
If someone says I’m too much, good, go find less.
I’m dedicated to me and to myself I’ll say yes.