What if my worth wasn\'t in their eyes,
But in the way I rise after every fall?
Not the praise I\'m given,
But the silence I survive.
What if beauty wasn\'t the mirror\'s whisper,
But the way I speak gently to my scars?
The way my laughter dares to bloom,
Even when the soil is cracked.
What if I stopped waiting — for love, for permission,
for rescue?
And instead, lit the torch within my chest,
Carved light into my own shadows.
Named every broken piece — Sacred.
What if my stories didn\'t begin with being chosen
by someone else ——
But with me choosing myself.
fully, fiercely, finally.
---
Maybe I am not the heroine they expected —
But I\'m the miracle they could never write.
Made of soft rage and quiet rebellion,
of unfinished poems and stardust dreams.
So today, I pick up the pen.
No edits.
No apologies.
And begin the chapter
where I fall in love —
with me.
Because maybe ——
just may be ----
I am the most beautiful story
I\'ll ever tell.