I wondered if the years spent

changing and letting my wild streak run free 

was actually worth it. 

If the day i spent sticking the pieces of my balck heart together, telling myself 'Only you can apply the bandaids on your cracks.' was worth it.

If the day I lay wrapped in a cocoon of my thoughts, in the rooms of sorrow and misery in my mind was worth it.

If the day I helped the old lady cross the street and saw a sparkle which she could never see was worth it. 

If the day I convinced myself I was ugly and miserable and fantasized about skinny legs and flat stomachs and wishing I was more than my size was worth it.

And the day I went looking for humanity and wondered where it was hidden was worth it.

And the day I unleashed the artist within me, coloring my minds canvas with the million hues of written word was worth it.

But they made me,
The days were the potter and I, the clay.
Those days formed the womb of minds transformation.

Changing 'me' for good.