For what I'm worth

I used to think my worth was in my ability to answer

at least half of the Jeopardy questions correctly,

in my fake blond hair with manufactured curls,

and my ability to break into dance at any given moment.

I believed worth and charm were inextricable,

and that I needed to work hard to maintain both.

Then came the clouds, the pain, the fear,

the inability to curl and dance and answer --

and a new understanding of worth.

It does not lie in my ability to capture attention,

in my humor, my talent, or my perfectly lined lips,

my worth does not lie in any part of my perfection,

(because perfection has a price, it does not give one.)

Not just a pretty piece, but the wounded whole

these grey hairs, this pierced heart,

these bowed legs, this mercurial brain;

My worth is not in me -- it is me.