Because You Said So

Because You Said So

I didn’t know I was a good writer until you told me that I was.

I didn’t know that my hair caught the light until you said that it did.

I forgot that my eyes were blue until you reminded me.

I didn’t think I was kind, beautiful, or talented.

I was not much of anything until you said it was so.

Like a vessel with many holes, these words spilled out, leaving me empty again and again.

There could never be enough words, so I learned to pour from within.

I wasn’t much of anything until I said that I was.

The words that mattered were the ones I spoke to myself when no one else could hear them.

The words that did not get announced in a Facebook post, in a moment of epiphany, or in thoughtful moments over drinks

The words that mattered were the ones I silently whispered to myself at night, but only if no one else spoke them.