Fire.

I wasn’t always like this you know.
I used to actually love like myself.
I mean. I never thought I was perfect, but I never apologized for my imperfections either.
And there were worlds full of girls prettier than me, but the boys still gravitated to my petite hands, and I always pulled ’em.
Because I was smart. Because I was talented. Because I was witty. Because I was chill. Because I was thoughtful. Because I liked sports and drank beer, played video games, and loved beautiful women. Because I was a funny motherfucker.
Most of all, because I believed I could.
I swear, I used to think I was awesome. Never cocky, barely even confident. But OK with myself, and OK was all it used to take.
I used to think I was a catch, and that any man would be nothing less than lucky to have me as their Queen.
And then something happened.
My crown.
It didn’t melt. That would indicate some sort of gradual regression.
But my crown. It hurt to wear before it disappeared, making sure to leave painful imprints as a reminder of the woman I used to be.
Of the woman I feel like I will never be again.
Somewhere down the line, I punished myself for being me.
I no longer thought I was awesome. Or a catch.
Instead, I convinced myself that I was worthless, and not good enough.
Someone told me I didn’t have a spark, and I believed it.
I believe it.
The girl whose verbal tongue lashings could make your mind squirm.
The girl who will drive a stick like she drives you crazy.
The girl who jumps in the ocean without knowing how to swim, and peers over cliffs with broken wings.
He said I didn’t have a spark.
He’s right.
I GOT THAT FIRE.
I need to remind myself that some people prefer the cold, and that’s OK.
They couldn’t handle the heat anyway.

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