How much am I worth?

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Rajna Removic
Member since October 8, 2016
  • 24 Posts
  • Age 18

Photographed by Irena R.

Photographed by Irena R.

Am I not enough for you?

Because of my age?

Because of the lack of my skin showing?

Am I not good enough for you in my simple, plain form? With my loose, casual hair and my oversized sweatpants? Laughing at some little things, watching cartoons, craving for snacks and sweets and cakes?

Am I too out spoken for you?

Do my words bother you? Do you find my restless, rebelious spirit irritating and annoying?

Do you want me to shut up, like all the other girls usually do?

Do you want me to care just about my hair and my make-up, my looks and my clothes? Do you want me to write pathetic quotes on Instagram about us?

Am I too much for you? After all, you do just see me as beautiful. To you, I am just a facade, a gorgeous exterior empty inside.

Do I talk too much for you? Too smart for you? I bet my words don’t even make sense to you.

The opressed, the politics, women empowerment, do good, education, achieve great things, ambitious, meaningful, pressing matters, current issues, blah, blah, blah.

I think too much. I contemplate about things too much. Or at least that’s what you think. I go beyond the surface, I look in deeper, I am curious to see what’s behind the curtain. But according to you, I am crazy. A fanatic.

‘’You’re pretty. You’re kind. And yes, you’re smart. But no need to go that far.’’

It’s too bad; we’ll have to part our ways then.

Because I will go that far. I don’t plan on flashing my cleavage. I don’t want anyone’s hand on my body at a party. I don’t want to receive vulgar messages in the streets or in my inbox.

I don’t need to show off my body in order not to disappear into obscurity.

I will be accepted as I am.

Clumsy, childish, serious, pensive, romantic, inexperienced, decisive, a bit stiff, out-going, a day-dreamer.

I am a child and a girl and a woman and an adult. And I’m proud of it.

So I am sorry that I am not good enough for you. That the colors of my eyes tell thousands of stories rather than just exist. That I can be happy without you. That my mind went places yours has never been to. That you don’t understand the beautiful complexity of my soul.

Perhaps if you ever saw me as something beyond pretty, we would still be together now. Your hug would be my home and my hair would be your toy. But I am not a heartless body. Not anymore.

You can only understand and love my surface, which is not good enough for me.

And I should have never convinced myself that it’s my fault.

Because it’s not. And it never will be.

I won’t go to sleep drowning in tears anymore. The memory of you won’t be my smile anymore.

The love I used to so generously give to you is now mine. And I’ll be careful when I give it out next time. It is mine before it is anyone else’s. And no guy can convince me otherwise.

I am who I am and I know my worth, even though you never did.

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