As I sit here massaging the bruise forming on my knuckles,
I acknowledge that I gave it my all.
My muscles ache,
and I smile—
knowing I’ll do it all again tomorrow.

An errant thought slips through my mind,
pulling me back to who I used to be—
to the ways I reshaped myself
to be accepted,
to fit in,
to belong.
To the pieces of me I lost
trying to make others comfortable.

For a moment, doubt rises:
Who wants a woman with bruises and broken nails?
Who could love a woman
as at home in boxing gloves
as she is in heels?
Who could desire a woman like me?

I allow myself that moment—
just one.
A moment to honor where I came from.
A moment to acknowledge who I used to be.
A moment to release the stories
I once believed about myself.

But in this moment—
the one I choose to stay in—
I am enough.
My pain makes me stronger.
My strength does not dim my beauty.

So here, now,
I take back the space
I once let drift into the past.
I reclaim my joy.
I reclaim my peace.
I reclaim me.