Worth

How will I know my worth
if no one is here to assess me?
To assign value?
To rate me somewhere
between not enough
and too much?

I know I am pretty.
I know I am funny,
that I can make a home
out of wishes and violet paint.

I am clever
and strange
in ways I’m fond of.

Still, I want to be chosen.

Not like a dress
pulled from a clearance rack,
or the last unbruised apple
at the market.

I want the kind of choosing
that happens after you’ve learned
when I say rest in peace
I mean sleep well.

After you have heard me
turn the details
of ordinary Tuesdays
into epic tales.

I want you to hear my laugh
from another room
and smile before you see me.

I want you to know my oddities
the way people drive
the streets of their hometowns:
without looking,
without thinking,
by heart.

I want you to find value
in all the little things
I love about myself
and the things I don’t.

Not with a number.
Not with a ranking.
Not by comparing me
to someone less strange,
someone more hinged.

I want you to look at me
with certainty

and know my worth.