I Lost, But I Didn’t Lose Myself

I remember the votes...
How the digits danced like dreams I couldn’t hold.
How my name echoed through group chats — like a mission,
a movement…
Until it didn't mean much anymore.
And suddenly, the dark silence began.

They said I lost.
Like my art was a receipt,
and worth was bought with transfers.
With funds!

They didn’t know,
that piece came from the deepest place.
From scars I never posted.
From prayers whispered on car rides.
From a fire I lit,
just to find warmth in this cold world.

And when I didn’t win,
they said, “It’s okay.”
But deep down, it didn’t feel okay.

People’s voices blamed me.
My thoughts became thorns.
I turned every flyer into a flashback,
every new chance into a wound reopening.

But guess what?

That competition didn’t define me.
It exposed me — to me.

And I didn’t die there.
Oh, I cried.
I crumbled.
But then I wrote this.

I bounced back on my feet
even when I didn’t feel propelled to get up.
And then I knew that the votes,
the voices in my head and out loud...
All the loss didn’t mean lacking.
And the times I failed didn’t mean I was a failure.

And when I see myself in the mirror,
I don’t see a loser.
I see a light.
I see a force.

I see me.