Searching... in I Kept the Pieces That Hurt the Most

I hate the way I’ve been made to feel like the things I love most about myself are somehow wrong; the softness that spills from my voice, the way my joy stretches too wide or I laugh too loud, the fire that flares when I care too deeply. It twists the light I carry into something to hide, turns self-love into suspicion. And now I find myself questioning the beauty I once held so close, as if loving who I am is something to be ashamed of. I need to find what's inside of me again. I need to find the light that I love about myself.