You can’t help it—sometimes you just pick the wrong things up along the way.
Like how you should have done this or
shouldn’t have done that.
maybe your feelings are wrong.
You berate yourself
wishing hard you aren’t who you are
and that you could hide behind something
more wonderful, magical, beautiful.
Something that’s less you.
As if being yourself is the most horrid idea.
As if being yourself is not enough.
You learn that you should have done more,
and that maybe it really was your fault.
How maybe you could have loved more,
loved better, loved hungrier.
You learn that you made the mistake—
That you are the mistake.
And then you start to believe.
That everything you learned along the way is the truth,
the only truth,
and that this truth is how the universe sees you.
As if the chip on your shoulder isn’t enough,
you decide to take this one straight to your heart.
And though now wounded and tired,
it’s that same heart
that will have to tell you, at some point,
that you thought untruthfully,
you learned falsely,
you believed the opposite.
That you are you,
and there is nothing
more wonderful, magical, beautiful
than being you.
That it’s okay to make mistakes,
it’s okay to be wrong,
and it’s okay to fall down.
That you loved.
Oh, how you loved.
And that’s more than enough.
You are more than enough.
Then the next time you pick the wrong thing up along the way,
learn how to put it back down
and walk away.