You are not the sum of other people’s opinions.
You aren’t the girl you were ten years ago,
though some days you look in the mirror and wish you were—
skin headed down to the earth,
while lies and Botox whisper it shouldn’t be this way.

You aren’t perfect.
And it hurts sometimes to face the wrong that occupies your darker parts.
You cringe when told you are doing it well,
knowing you wanted to kick the dog or push the little guy
when no one was looking.

But your cracks are not for shame.
They are for redemption.
They are for freedom.
They are for glory.

You are designed to need, even when you don’t want it to be that way.
You are created for mistakes, because no one wants to hear the story of easy.
You are not able to be held by even these words now on this page, screen, tongue.

You are wishing to be her but already you.
And what a you, you are.