What does it mean to have worth?

What does it mean to have worth?

Is it something that is assigned to you at birth?

I have searched for the answer since I was a child,

And through my journey, I have become tired.


By what is a person’s worth measured?

I can feel my lungs fill with pressure.

I want to know if it is measured by others’ approval.

Or is it easier to tell by their disapproval?

Is it found in the clothes you wear,

The color of your skin,

Or the texture of your hair?


Does any of this ever even get decided by other people,

Or is it something I have to define for myself?

What does it mean to have worth?


I stare at my reflection in the mirror, and I don’t like what I see.

I look at my hair, the thing I used to hate for being so distinctly me.

I look at my eyes, and in them I see sadness.

I look at my face as a whole, with all of its shapes and colors making images on canvas,

And I find myself thinking:


What does it mean to have worth?


I look at my personality, and I don’t like what I see.

My heart has been wounded, all because of me.

My sense of humor turned deprecating,

And so I have been left hating

Almost every aspect of what makes me



I look to my soul, which cannot be found in the backwards image represented through glass.

I look to my soul, buried deep in my mind, and I ask:

Where do you have your worth?

My soul takes a breath before replying:



But then I’m forced to ask: What does it mean to have worth?


My soul waits to reply.

It answers: “Your question makes me want to cry.”

Please tell me: What does it mean to have worth?

My soul looks to me, and I see the sadness in it’s eyes that I saw in mine.

For a moment I’m not sure if I’m looking into theirs or my own.

My soul says, “it means you love yourself.

It means that you don’t have to search for others’ approval.

It means you can accept what you are.

It means your beauty lies within.

It means the only person that matters in your sense-of-self is you.

It means you can be happy.”


My soul looks to me, trying to assess if I understand what it means.

I question everything. The message has gone unseen.


I yell back one last time: What does it mean to have worth?


But there is nobody there to answer me.

My soul has done all it can,

It is my turn to try to understand.

This is something I have to figure out on my own.

And so I shall, until I have fully grown.

Perhaps then, I will know what it means to have worth.


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