Burn the Box

I’ve spent a lot of time
Allowing my value
To be determined
Based upon
My successes.

I’ve spent a lot of time
Allowing my worth
To be determined
Based upon
My failure.

I’ve spent a lot of time
Allowing my purpose
To be determined
Based upon
My degree.
My achievements.
My profession.
My knowledge.
My following.
My relationships.
My bank account’s commas.
My asshole ex compared to your asshole ex.
Ugh- and he really was a total asshole…
My weight.
My complexion.
My motivation.
My measurements.
My scars.
Physical or otherwise.
But, let’s be honest: Scars that weren’t physical to begin with, by the end (whenever “the end” may be), can almost always be seen on the outside if you know what you’re looking for.
My trauma.
My salary.
My things compared to your things compared to things we traded compared to how much we got in return.
“Yes, it’s all on one check…” a nod, raised brow, and slight wave of one proud index finger toward myself, “…and I’ll take it.” — whispered to the server, just loud enough to be overheard.
Teacher of the Year.
#1 Mom.
High fives. Hearts.
Likes. Comments.
Recommends. Shares.

My freedom.
Or lack thereof.

I’ve spent a lot of time
Wasting a lot of a time
To fit into a box
That I spent my whole life
Attempting to get out of.