"Painted black" plays through my headphones. Its relevance is uncanny. Hilarious in a way.
I stare at an eye painted black in my mirror. It hurts like hell.
Many are blinded by black eyes.
All sorts of black eyes. They are hit in the face with rejection, regret, remorse, guilt, greed, gossip, insecurity, impatience, and imperfection.
I was blinded once. Blinded by wanting you.
This golden girl took hit after hit after hit without any idea of my worth. I was in the dark for so long. It pains me how long I was dragged under. The thought of it makes my stomach feel as though it was pulled from me, twisted into knots and put back into place.
The thing is, this black eye made me see.
It made me see I am good enough.
I am smart enough.
I am witty enough.
I am interesting enough.
And I am beautiful enough.
I am a prize you must work for to be won, not a prize that must work to be worthy of you.
A trophy does not polish itself so you can pick it out of all the other trophies on a shelf.
A trophy must be won.
I have molded myself into the golden person I want to be and now it is your turn to decide if you are going to fight to win this prize, or go for another.
You are not my prize anymore. I am yours.
