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She Found Herself, and That's Enough

I remember a time when I'd gaze around the room,

large spaces brimmed with beautiful women,

and wait for you to look at me.

I was standing right in front of you.

I wore the dress I thought you'd like.

I squeezed myself into a double zero.

I pinned my hair up "just right."

You always knew how to make me

invisible. I learned to play the role well.

She's the character I'd embody

to distract from the reality

that you'd never be good for me.

But oh, I'd still try to

make you see.

Oh, I'd still pray

for you to be the one.

It was always the disinterested

that interested me most.

Sometimes I'd parade around you,

my beauty blossoming like spring

vines at dawn,

and make myself feel

what you were never capable of sparking -

thinking if I created it from within,

then maybe I'd look the way they do.

Maybe your eyes would turn

toward mine,

and light up,

incandescent and refulgent,

as they do around others.

But they never did,

at least not in the same way.

I grew tired of trying

to be the one for you,

when you never tried.

Looking back, I have no regrets.

I don't blame that girl for fighting so hard

to be accepted, welcomed and seen.

In her battle, she discovered herself,

and the views from here don't require

a set of eyes on hers to be whole.

She found herself.

She honors herself.

She loves herself.

And that,

that's enough.


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