I Hope You Pick Yourself

I hope you pick yourself.

Out of the billions spanning the globe,

I hope you select you.

There will be days it feels like you are the last kid left for dodgeball,

That you are stuck with a team eerily aware of your weak arms and quaking knees,

Call yourself anyway.

In anthologies of digitized Venuses,

Do not shrink.

You are not pixels,

Not removable with several strokes of a mouse,

Remember this when you are with yourself.

Remember these truths when your mind is the school cafeteria,

And the last thing you want is to be alone with your thoughts.

Recall this when you inflate into your biggest bully,

Sparing no punches.

Remember this because you’ll also be the only one who can grab you an ice pack.

You’ll be the only one gazing through a black eye from your own blow,

The only one who tastes muffled words through a swollen face.

You beat the real monsters,

So why do they get the prize of your thoughts?

Of making you like them?

I hope you pick you.

I hope you pick yourself in the same way I would–

With love and care and generosity and challenge.

Pick yourself like you are a first round draft pick,

Because in a way,

You are.

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